The BS Life of Gwen
by Flagg1991
Summary: A new girl works to capture Lemy's heart, meanwhile he pines for his older sister Lyra. Sequel to The BS Life of Lemy Loud. REUPLOAD.
1. Unrequited Love

**Lyrics to Death to All But Metal by Steel Panther (2009)**

Man, this is bullshit, Lemy thought with a sigh. He sat back in his seat and stared down at the paper in front of him. There was a big red 75 in the upper right corner. Below that was a missive: Very creative but your use of grammar leaves a lot to be desired.

It was October 20, Lemy's birthday, and he was in English class - the gayest time of the day. He was good at math, he was good at science, and he was passable at history, but English...man, English was the guy hiding in the alley and when Lemy passed by he jumped out and started whipping his ass with a crowbar. And all Lemy could do was curl up on the ground and cry for his mother.

Usually.

Lately, he'd been sucking in all his classes: A 70 here, a 65 there...the best grade he'd gotten in the past two weeks was an 84 in math. An 84. Man, fuck that.

It wasn't his fault, though. He just had a lot on his mind.

Like L -

He shut that thought down like his name was Negan. Nope, not going there. It's a happy day, remember? The big 1-3? I'm officially a teen, brah. I get to watch PG-13 movies and shit now. I don't know if I can handle it. Whoa, that guy just said 'frick.' I need an adult. He was going to have a party later so he had that to look forward to. Parties are great. Cake, ice cream, presents…

...only he wasn't looking for it. As much as he hated school, he really didn't relish the idea of going home because L -

Something wet and hard struck him in the cheek and he winced. Ow, what the fuck? I know how JFK feels now. He turned his head, and Jimmy Preston was staring at him. Jimmy sat in the next row over, a couple chairs up. He was one of those homo jocks who dig slapping other men's asses and getting dogpiled by the rest of the team. He had black hair and blue eyes. Looked kind of like a rat, you know, his face. Real ugly for a football player. "Happy Birthday, Loud," he said.

Lemy peeled the spitball off his face and tossed it aside, then flipped Jimmy off with both hands. "Fuck. You."

The teacher, Mrs. Warden, picked that moment to turn from the chalkboard, because of course she did. "Lemy Loud!" she cried. "Stop making obscene gestures at once!"

Everyone twisted around to look at him, and he felt a rush of color in his cheeks. "Sorry," he said and hung his head. Seriously, how come you never catch that asshole? It's always me. Man, if I get jumped in the hall and the principal rolls up, I'm the one who gets in trouble for getting blood on he floor. Mr. Loud, pick up your teeth and follow me to ISS. Gay.

See, school sucks enough on its own, but people make it a thousand times worse. For one, everyone acted like a bunch of fucking toddlers, running, screaming, fucking loud, braying laughter, oh God, shiver. For two, they're all dicks. There's the black dude who kicked the back of his seat every day in math, the snotty, stuck-up bitch who sat next to him in science (she was hot but her personality made his dick retract into his stomach), that Ray dude in history who had jokes like his ho mama had sex partners. You look like Brett Michaels only gayer. Fuck you, Ray.

He had homebois, but, like, two out of 600 people, and sometimes, as they sat alone in the cafeteria, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, they were losers.

Nah, they were cool. Everyone else was a loser.

Presently, the bell rang and Lemy let out a pent up sigh of relief. Thank God, man, the day is done.

Now home.

Uh...can I take that sigh of relief back?

Grabbing his books, he got up and waited for everyone else to shove through the door before going into the hall. At his locker, he put in his combination (42-39-56...you can say she got it alllll) and jammed his books in. He slipped his ipod out, put it into his pocket, and poked one earbud in. Next he grabbed his jacket - olive drab military deal, ya know, cool - and shrugged into it.

School blows chunks, man. And not just because he was a loser with loser friends (even the chess club is cooler than me), but because he felt like...the subjects he was good at, he was good at, and everything else was a lost cause. When his mind wasn't preoccupied with Ly - he got 99s and shit in math and science. The other stuff….he just couldn't get the hang of it, you know? Like English. Nouns, verbs, fucking gerunds, it was so fucking confusing and his brain couldn't retain it all. Like there was a hole where that crap was supposed to go and it all leaked out as soon as it went in. He was never going to get good at it, so really, man, it was a waste of time. A frustrating bullshit waste of time.

He pushed through the main doors and went outside; the day was crisp and cool, the trees along the opposite side of the street blazing red, orange, and yellow. He paused, fished out his ipod, and went through the songs before settling on one, then put it back and started walking again. Loud, driving guitar filled one ear while the sound of his gay ass lil ass classmates screaming, giggling, yelling, and wailing laughter filled the other. Lemy glowered, looking so much like his sister Loan that he'd kill himself if only he knew.

Fuck the Goo Goo Dolls, they can suck my balls

They look like the dogs that hang out at the mall

Eminem can suck it, so can Dr. Dre

They can suck each other just because they're gay

Sometimes it really bothered him that he couldn't fit in with everyone else. Like...you know that shit he was talking a while back about being a misfit? He always felt that way, but when he was around other kids it was tenfold. He didn't like the things they did, he didn't act the way they did, he wasn't a petty little bitch the way they were, he was...I dunno...he felt like an old man trapped in a fucking daycare center sometimes.

They can suck a dick, they can lick a sack

Everybody shout, "Heavy metal's back!"

He blamed his Mom. She was the one who got him into old ass music no one else cares about, and it just spiraled from there. Next thing you know, he's walking around in an army jacket and a headband like it's 1985 and he's a sixties holdover. Hey, man, expand your mind, man, take a hit of acid,, it's groovy, man. No, he didn't really blame her. Hell, he liked the shit he liked. If no one else did, fine, whatever. You do you and I'll do me.

Death to Papa Roach, Blink 182

All those fucking pussies sounds like doggy-doo

Wearing baggy pants, spiking up their hair

They're not worth the crust on my underwear

Only these little ass kids out here weren't like that. They see someone who's different and they gang up on them and shit. He really didn't have it that bad, it was just frustrating. Really, really fucking frustrating.

Kills those fucking fuckheads who programme MTV

They can suck my ass with all the record companies

There's a book he never read called Stranger in a Strange Land by a cat named Heinlein, some sort of lame ass science fiction deal. He didn't know what it was about, but the title...man, that title spoke to him, because he was a stranger in a strange land, you know, shuffling his feet and looking around like what the fuck is all this? He saw this dumb ass movie once with the dude from Groundhog Day. He was in Japan or something and he's walking down the street and he's fucking towering over everyone like Paul Bunyan or something. It was a clever visual metaphor for his feelings of displacement, Lemy suspected. That was him. A giant among men. Heh.

Fuck Mariah Carey, death to Sheryl Crow

They can kiss each other on the camel toe

50 Cent's a fag, so is Kanye West

Shooting hot sperm on each others' chest

He was at the end of Franklin now. Four blocks from home.

And Lyr -

He sighed.

Have you guessed what I'm all fucked up about this time? I've been dropping mad hints, bro, because I don't wanna talk about it but I do. It's Lyra.

I'm in love with her.

Like...real love, not 'oh, she's my sister and she'll have sex with me if I only ask.' I think about her night and day, I feel weak and shaky when she's around, and when she's gone, I'm flighty and restless and constantly looking out the window for her. It's so fucking...man...it's torment, it really is. The worst part is: She doesn't feel the same way. I know she doesn't, and I know I shouldn't. Like really, dude, you have sex with a chick and fall madly head-over-heels in love with her? Us doing it was never meant to be...you know, that...it's...it's pretty much just sex. I knew that going in, but I can't help it, man, I love her. We don't have sex too often, because it's like a lie, and I can't take it. I mean, while we're going at it, she's mine entirely, and that's nice, but then it's over and she's not anymore, not matter how much I cling to her afterwards.

I haven't talked to her about it because, like I said, I know she doesn't feel that way about me, and it'd make me look like a sissy or something. Oh, you can't have sex without catching feelings? What a bitch.

There's more to it than just the bitch thing. Like, I don't want our relationship to be changed or different; kind of hard not to feel differently about someone when you know they're so lovesick over you they can hardly make it through the day.

He was at the foot of the walkway leading up to the front porch now. Toys and bits of trash littered the lawn. He stared up at it with dread and foreboding; the high school let out earlier than the middle school, which meant Lyra was already home unless she went to a friend's house, which wasn't likey . Today was his birthday, remember, and it was all hands on deck. Deep breath. Let's do this.

Turning off his ipod, he went up the walk and then inside. When he saw Lyra sitting on the couch, her arm thrown over the back and her feet kicked up onto the coffee table, a pang of...whatever the fuck that sharp, clawing feeling is...went through him, and he suddenly felt awkward. She glanced over and smiled warmly. "Hey, bro."

Every time he saw her face - her sultry eyes, her sensuous lips, the constellations of frecks swirling across her cheeks like soft and secret galaxies, his throat closed and his heart thumped like the back feet of that gay ass Disney rabbit (My name's Thumper and I suck dick). "H-Hey," he said, trying like hell to keep the tremble from his voice, "how's it going?" He shut the door and took his jacket off.

"It's going," she nodded, "you?"

I pine for you from afar, my love, and I dream of being where you are.

Yeah, she makes me wanna write sap ass poetry too.

"Okay," he said and glanced longingly at the stairs. Let me go yearn in peace.

Nope.

"Come here."

Lemy's cardiac muscle (I'm sick of saying heart, bro) did a seesaw thing. Down because I love you and being around you kind of hurts and up because I love you and I love being around you. I know, that doesn't make sense, but it's how he felt.

He hung his jacket up, went to the couch on leaden feet, and sat heavily next to her. She slapped his knee and rubbed; he broke out in hives and blood began to spurt out of his nose...metaphorically speaking, of course. "So, man, thirteen," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, thirteen." He flashed a nervous smile. "Uh, unlucky number."

Lyra laughed. "Nah, man, thirteen is cool."

"I guess," he shrugged. You don't contradict a girl you love, man; you agree with whatever she says. The Jews are a scourge and Hitler did nothing wrong. Uhh...sure, honey, whatever you say. *Note to self, this bitch is crazy*

She mouth to speak, but the door opening cut her off. They both glanced over, and there he was, Dad in all his white-haired glory. Lemy sighed and looked away. "Hey, Dad!" Lyra cried happily and jumped up.

"Hey, honey," Dad said.

Lemy's relationship with his old man had improved over the past few months...kind of. They hung out here and there, but it was more like two chums than best friends, you know? Dad was actually kind of lame. Why the hell every woman in the world wanted to jump on his dick perplexed the fuck out of him. This is my Ace Savvy comic book collection...I loved this stuff when I was your age. Ew, really? DId you love getting shoved into lockers too? Because I bet you were.

He wasn't as jealous of Dad now that he wasn't carrying about a massive unspent load while watching him get it on left and right, but when it came to Lyra, man...fuck that guy. Seeing him touch her and kiss her, and seeing her leading him up the stairs by the hand like she was now made him seeth; he balled his hands into fists and bared his teeth like a snarling dog, his face flushing and his eyes flashing red with rage. She didn't love Dad..she told him that and he believed her...but just knowing that Dad was with her...fucking her...stroking her body, kissing her throat, shooting his geek fucking child molester load into her…

It's nothing, okay. That's just how it goes. He and Dad were on an equal playing field as far as Lyra was concerned, so he shouldn't let it bother him.

But it did.

It really fucking did.

Can you blame him? You can't just sit there and watch the girl you love loving someone else...even if it is only with her body. It's…

Nothing. I'll deal.

He snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned the TV on. He didn't realize he wasn't alone until he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye: Leia was bending over the back of the couch, her hands splayed and a wicked light in her eyes. "Hi, Lemy," she said.

"Hey," Lemy said. He and Leia had a thing - she was his dom and he was her sub. Sounds weird when you put it like that, but it is what it is. Once or twice a week, she came to him and...do I have to spell it out for you? They sexed.

She leaned over the couch until her lips hovered inches from his ear; her breath puffed hotly against his skin and made him shiver. "I invited a friend to your party. I hope you don't mind."

Lemy's brow furrowed and he turned his head, their cheeks grazing and his lips coming to rest an inch from hers...so close he could taste her breath. "Whatever," he said. "Why would I care?"

Leia smiled and flicked her eyes up and now in a mad alluring way. "Because she has a huge crush on you."

Lemy's eyebrows raised. A girl...had a crush...on him? Bullshit. Probably another one of Leia's little games. She loved playing head games with him...which is why sometimes he was extra rough with her in bed. She liked it, though, so it really wasn't a punishment. "Who?"

Drawing back, Leia stuck her chin out. "Gwen Myers."

Alright, that name sounded familiar, like maybe Leia had mentioned her a few times. He tried to call up a picture of her face, but couldn't, which meant he'd probably never even seen her. "I don't know who that is."

"You met her at the lemonade stand."

Nope, still nothing.

"I made you take your shirt off in front of her."

He vaguely remembered that...there were two girls, one white and one black, and they were both hot. Not as hot as Lyra, but not bad.

"She really liked what she saw," Leia continued, "and she's been talking about you nonstop." She held out an envelope, and Lemy hesitantly took it. "Happy Birthday." With that, she spun and swished away, tossing a sexy glance over her shoulder before going up the stairs.

Alone, Lemy stared down at the envelope. Felt like there was a card inside.

A crush on me, huh? He couldn't lie, that tickled his ego a little. She wasn't Lyra, though, and if she wasn't Lyra, what the fuck did it matter? Every girl in the world could have the hots for him and it didn't mean shit if none of them were Her.

He sighed and ripped the envelope open. I hope there's money inside. Knowing Leia, though, there probably isn't: She'd rather part with a finger than a dollar. He yanked the card, and something dropped out and onto his lap. A Polaroid picture face down, its back facing up. Like when you put jam on your toast and it falls off the counter - always lands on the heavy side. He picked it up, turned it over…

...and froze.

Gwen (ah, the white girl, okay) lay back on a bed, her shoulder length brown hair pooled around her head like a dirty halo. Her eyes were narrowed sexily and her lips slightly parted, a pink blush spreading across her face. She held the hem of her pink skirt up just far enough to reveal the front of her crisp white panties.

Lemy's jaw dropped and his heart started to race. No, she was no Lyra, but the Lemy Log was starting to stir anyway.

Something was written across the bottom of the picture. Lemy squined. Come see me, it said.

Wow.

He was -

Wait a minute.

He held the picture close to his face. That blanket looks kind of familiar. Like maybe it's mine.

I-Is she in my bed? He looked up at the ceiling as though he had X-ray vision or something. Noooo..can't be. I'm gonna go up there, open my door, and Leia's going to point and laugh at me from the hall. Hahaha, gotcha.

His dick was twitching.

Then maybe we can fuck.

He was getting to his feet without realizing it, drawn the way a living smell cloud draws a cartoon character. He glanced down at the picture again: Those smoky come-here-big-boy eyes, those lips, the swell of her small breasts through the fabric of her gray sweater vest. Now he was hard. Well...someone better be in my bed. He crossed to the stairs and began to climb; when he heard Lyra moaning, his step faltered and his heart twisted.

Deep breath, Lemy, being a jealous little bitch doesn't become you, man, it really doesn't.

(It should be me)

It's your own fault for catching feelings, brah.

(I love her)

You just can't be happy...you always have to stress and worry over something. Boo-hoo, I'm a virgin then boo-hoo, I love Lyra. You're a fucking malcontent, dude. This is why no one likes you.

He was at his door now. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn't see Leia crouching anywhere waiting to laugh at him. That didn't mean she wasn't hiding somewhere, though. Hahaha, you believed me, dummy.

Like I said, she was into playing games. And teasing him. The last few times he had sex with Lyra, he only did it because Leia got him all worked up and then left him hanging; she'd snuggle up to him on the couch and rub him through his pants until he was leaking; let him finger her then suddenly need to leave without returning the favor; that kind of thing. She also liked tricking him...like she was probably doing now.

Whatever. It's my room, I gotta go in some time. I can play it off. No, I didn't believe you I just...uh...needed to get something.

(Like a Cotex for your seeping vag. Boo-hoo-hoo)

He laid his hand on the knob and turned it. The back of his neck tingled with expectation. Alright, let's see what's going on in here. He pushed the door open and stepped in, reaching the foot of the bed like that because closet, remember.

His jaw dropped.

Holy shit.

She wasn't lying.

Gwen was stretched out on his bed, her back against the headboard and her legs crossed at the knee. She lazily paged through a magazine, the feeble rays of the autumn sun falling through the window and setting her chestnut hair aflame. Her sleek legs rubbed slowly together, and his eyes went to her socked feet, then traced leisurely up...warm, sun-kissed flesh, the hem of her shirt lying limply across the tops of her thighs, her hips, her pert breasts. His dick was throbbing hotly by the time he reached her face; her cloudy brown eyes scanned the page, her head moving ever so slightly from one side to the other as she read.

She acted like she didn't know he was there, but from the way her cheeks burned and from the upward hilt of her lips, he suspected that she did.

He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. She glanced up, and her wicked little smile grew. "Hey, Freak," she said, her voice smooth and rich like honey. Lemy opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't form words, couldn't even fucking think of words.

Setting the magazine aside, Gwen got onto her hands and knees and slunk forward like a panther on the prowl, her back curved, her hips wiggling, and her butt lifted. She brushed her teeth across her bottom lip and flicked her eyes up and down, her gaze caressing him, making him tingly and warm. He watched dumbstruck as she approached, his body smoldering and his mind at full-fucking-stop. She drew up to her knees, their faces leve now, and laid her palms flat on his chest; his skin tightened under her touch and a shiver went down his spine. "Leia says it's your birthday," she said.

Lemy blinked. "Uhhhh...y-yeah, I-I guess."

She giggled and slipped one hand up his shirt, and he gasped at the warm feeling of her fingertips kissing his flesh. "She also says you're single."

S-S-Single? Uh, n-y-uh, I-uh...what was the question again?

"I am too," she said and pressed her body against his, her lips skimming his cheek and the scent of her perfume drifting into his nose. "Maybe we can change that," she whispered, and slipped her other hand into his shirt. She kissed the side of his neck. Her lips were soft, warm, and wet. She wiggled her body against his aching bulge and raked her nails playfully down his chest; a shuddery "Nngh!" burst from his lips.

She pulled back and stared at him with simmering eyes. "Do you want a girlfriend,, Freak?" Her eyes darted down and she lifted his shirt, exposing his quivering stomach.

He did...just not her.

He didn't think that, couldn't think it (he couldn't think anything) but that's the way it was.

She bent and placed a sizzling kiss near his belly button, then another higher, her nails kneading him. He moaned in the back of his throat and tossed his head back. She kissed higher, higher, slow, sensual, her wet lips like molten lead. When she kissed his nipple, he let out a long sigh. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and hazy, bursts of red and pink spreading across her cheeks. "Do you want me to be your girlfriend? Freak?" The last word came out as a husky breath.

Lemy responded by pressing his lips to her and kissing her hungrilly, his hands going to her hips. She kissed him back, her tongue clumsily massasing his and her fingertips stroking his cheeks. He knelt on the edge of the bed and she melted into him. He brushed the hem of her shirt up and cupped her bare hips in his hands; her silky skin radiated the heat of her desire, and Lemy's body ached to join itself to hers.

The kiss became deeper, their tongues dancing a frenetic waltz and their lips gnashing together. He pushed her shirt up her flanks, and she lifted her arms, the kiss breaking just long enough for him to slip it off and toss it aside. He stopped to try and appreciate her breasts, but she threw herself at him and nearly knocked him onto the floor; her lips welded to his and she grabbed his shirt in her hands. With a forceful yank, she pulled him back and they spilled onto the bed in a confusion of limbs, long hair, and lust, Lemy on top and Gwen beneath, his hands plundering her hair and hers scratching his chest and stomach.

He pulled her skirt down her shapely legs and flung it away; it caught on the desk lamp and hung there like a flag of victory. She looked at up him with a sly smile; her hair was fanned out around her head and her small breasts rose and fell as she silently heaved for breath. Lemy licked his lips and laid his hands on her shoulders; when he started to move them slowly down her body, she bit her bottom lip and hummed, her back arching slightly off of the bed. His palms brushed over her tits, her nipples as hard as his dick. He trailed his fingers down her stomach and to her panties; she purred and shook with need. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them down; she lifted one leg and then the other. They came over her ankle and his dropped them onto the bed. She parted her knees, and her pink, glistening flower (sap ass, cliche, I know) was spread open before him. Her heat was intense, more so than Lyra and Leia's, and her smell was sharper, gamier, as though she didn't want him but needed him.

She licked her lips. "Like what you see, Freak?"

"Y-You're beautiful," he said honestly.

She smiled fondly. "Am I?"

He nodded.

"Show me."

She opened her legs wider, and Lemy shifted between them. Grabbing her hips, he prodded her with his dick, and she gasped; her fluid mixed with his, her heat became his heat, and when he thrusted, her body fused with his body, her walls molding to him like a damp velvet glove and his dick straining against her. She cried out and threw her hips against his, taking him deeper. Lemy hung his head and hissed through his teeth; she was tighter than either Lyra or Leia, and the feeling was so much different...beautifully painful. He drew back, and eased forward, his tip stirring her insides like an iron stirring embers. She dug her heels into the mattress, her legs in a rough M; his hips brushed them with every forward motion, and that addition sensation served to push him close to the edge. He paused and took a deep, steadying breath. Gwen looked up at him with confusion (and panic?) in her eyes. "What's wrong?" she panted.

"N-Nothing," he said,. Steady again, he thrusted, and she moaned, her hands going to her chest and sliding down to his stomach. Lemy fisted the cover and went faster, his hips slamming into hers and his dick reaching so deep it made him wince in pain. Gwen, eyes closed, tossed her head back and sucked air over her teeth; her pert breasts bounced with every drive.

Heat began to form in Lemy's stomach, and this time there was no stopping it; it picked up steam and started rushing up like a freight train rolling downhill; Switchman's sleeping, baby, and number hundred and two is on the wrong track and headed for you. Gwen sensed the coming apocalypse and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Hold my hand," she said in a needy whine, "please hold my hand."

His first time with Lyra flashed through his mind; they held hands too. He threaded his fingers through Gwen's and gave one last thrust, hitting her cervix just as his load exploded from him like an artillery shell from a cannon. He cried out like a little girl and crushed her hand in his. She rocked her hips and moaned so loud everybody in the house must have heard.

For a long time, Lemy stayed as he was: Head bowed, one hand planted on the bed palm down, the other holding Gwen's, his heart hammering and his lungs bursting hotly.

Godfuckingdamnmydude.

He swallowed and pulled out; a torrent of thick jizz gushed out and he winced. Shit, I just fucking washed these sheets. Oh well. Still had sex. He rolled off and let go of Gwen's hand; they lay side by side, both of them catching their breath. After a minute, Gwen shifted to her side, propped her elbow up, and rested the side of her head in her palm. She trailed one finger down his chest. He looked at her, and she was wearing a sinful little grin. "How was that, Freak?"

"Really fucking good," he said haltingly. That wasn't a lie; the physical aspect was hella good. Spiritually...he felt kind of cold, you know? With Lyra it was deeper, more meaningful. Like...I dunno, just what I said.

Gwen ducked her head and regarded him with evil eyes. "Did you think of your sister?"

Her words didn't immediately sink in...but when they did, his heart missed a beat. "What?" he asked quickly, fronting like he hadn't been balls deep in two of his siblings. Hey, he was down with incest, but that's not exactly the kind of thing you pound your chest about.

Gwen's finger skipped across his navel, drawing a shiver from deep within. "I know you're in love with Lyra. Leia told me."

"I'm not - wait, how does Leia know?"

Gwen laughed. "She says everyone does You're really obvious about it. Freak." She punctuated the last word with a finger tap against the top of his pubic mound.

Aw, man, is it really that obvious? I try to hide it, man, I really do, but...I guess I do stare at her a lot and act weird around her. Fuck. And here I thought I was being slick.

"I don't mind," Gwen said and leaned over his chest. She kissed his nipple, then flicked it with her tongue. She rolled her eyes up and looked at him as she did it, then pulled away and smirked. "Because I'm going to make you forget all about her."

* * *

Liby shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, leaned back against the metal frame of the swing set, and watched the street. She was wearing an oversized green army jacket over a black turtleneck sweater. The chilly autumn breeze rustled her hair and swept a strand into her eyes. She brushed it aside and glanced at Lacy, who sat in one of the swings and stared in the same direction as hdf. She wore a white sweater and jeans, her dirty tennis shoes scraping in the dirt. Their eyes met, and a smile passed between them.

Since getting together back in August, they had been constant companions; when you saw one, you knew the other wasn't far behind. In September, Lyra agreed to switch places with Lacy, now they shared a room. There were two beds in it, but they only used one.

They did many things together - sex and sports among them - but the thing they did most was train: After their encounter with Montoya and his goons, Lacy wanted to learn the ways of my sexy ass sister, and Liby wanted her to learn, because a gumshoe, she had come to realize, is like a regular shoe - useless without a partner. Liby spent hours and hours each week teaching her sister hand-to-hand combat techniques, how to shoot, how to pick locks, how to turn everyday items into weapons of mass murder, and, most importantly, how to move like the night...unseen, unheard, and undetected. You might not think it, but being sneaky is an art form that requires lots of practice to master.

And being sneaky was vital to Liby's plan.

Montoya was going to come back, no two ways about it. Given the publicity and federal involvement in The Royal Woods Warehouse Massacre, it probably wouldn't be for a while, but one day, he'd send a chopper squad right to their front door. The risk to her family - Dad, her mom, her aunts, her sisters, Lemy - was simply unacceptable, which lead her to one conclusion.

She had to strike first.

And for an operation of this magnitude, she needed a well armed, well trained Lacy by her side.

For over two months, she had been plotting and slowly gathering intel. Montoya was slippery; he was everywhere and nowhere, and you never knew where he'd been until two days later. Picking the right time, therefore, was extremely difficult, but she caught a break; she learned through a contact at the Costa Rican embassy in Washington that Montoya was hosting a party at his home on November 1 - by sheer happenstance the same day as Día de Muertos in Mexico...the day of the dead. How fitting, because that day Ricardo Montoya was going to die.

Everything was set up - she and Lacy were going to fly to Costa Rica, drop just off the coast of Montoya's private island, and boat in. She had the blueprints to his villa and had studied them again and again. Gaining access without being seen wouldn't be too difficult (despite the presence of roving guards with machine guns and Rottweilers), but getting at Montoya without causing a fuck ton of collateral damage would be. The partygoers were bound to all be scumbags who'd deserve a shot in the head, but Liby didn't particularly like chopping people unless she absolutely had to. It was either now or never, though, and if she had to rub out a bunch of people to keep her family safe, she would.

"How much longer?" Lacy asked, looking up and squinting into the sun. "Lemy's party starts in, like, half an hour."

Liby looked down at the Swiss watch on her wrist - it was waterproof, bulletproof, and if you pulled the dial out, it was a garrote. "Any minute," she said. "Frank is never late...we were just early."

As if on cue, a dark blue panel van with a psychedelic mural painted on the side pulled up to the curb and parked. "That's him now," Liby said and nodded.

"He drives a hippie van?" Lacy asked incredulously.

Liby pushed away from the swing set. "Yep, perfect cover. Come on."

They crossed to the sidewalk together as Frank got out and came around the front. A tall, gaunt man with wispy gray hair, a bald pate, and a narrow face, Frank was ex-CIA, and had worked a thousand secret missions for presidents as far back as George W. Bush. These days, he dealt in weapons; most of his stock was highly illegal, but that was okay, he only sold to the good guys.

Like most days, he wore a long dark gray trench coat and sunglasses. A cigarette jutted from his thin lips.

"Hey, Frank," Liby said happily as she and Lacy walked up.

"Afternoon," Frank said. He spoke in a clipped, hard boiled sort of way, like most men of action. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic." He grabbed the handle of the sliding door and pulled it open to reveal the cargo compartment: It was neatly stacked with crates, boxes, and plastic containers. He reached in and pulled one of the crates to him. "I threw this together for you." He removed the lid and sat it aside. Liby went up to it, her interest piqued: Frank always had the best hardware.

Inside, she spotted two HK416 rifles, each with night scope and M203 underbarrel grenade launcher attachments. "Ooooh," she said, sounding for all the world like a little girl in toy store. Her eyes scanned the rest of the contents: two FN Five-Seven semi-automatic pistols (each with under-barrel flashlight); a mixed assortment of pineapple and baseball grenades; frag grenades; night vision goggles; Nylon rope; and…

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, a hilt to her voice.

Without looking, Frank nodded. "Yep. High-yield tactical military-grade plastic explosives."

Lacy's eyes widened. She knew what plastic explosives were, thanks to Liby, but that other stuff must have meant it was really powerful.

Liby picked it up and spun on her heels. She was beaming, an enchanted light dancing in her dark eyes.. "This stuff is great," she said, "but you have to be really careful with it." She rocked back and forth on her heels; she was excited for this stuff the way other girls her age were excited for make-up and hunky pop stars. Lacy smiled softly to herself; Liby was never more beautiful than when she was jilling off over military stuff.

Putting the plastic explosives back, Liby turned to Frank, her ponytail swishing and her heels leaving the ground in an enthusiastic half-bounce. "How much?"

Frank took a drag of his cigarette and plucked it out of his mouth. "For you, five. You are my best customer, after all."

Liby reached into one of the jacket's oversized pockets and brought out a stack of bills held together by a blue band. She counted out five thousand dollars (Squee, it's a steal! I'm gonna bust a girl nut!) and handed it to him. "Make the drop like normal," she said.

Frank nodded. "Pleasure doing business."

"You too, Frank; say hello to Wanda for me."

Liby turned and flashed Lacy the biggest, cheesiest, happiest smile ever. "We got stuff," she said and fisted her hands in excitement.

Lacy couldn't help a giggle. "I see that." She took one of Liby's hands and twined their fingers. "Do you really think we'll need all of it?"

"I hope not," Liby said, "though I'm dying to use that plastic explosive. It's really fun. Like Play-Doh for badasses." She and Lacy both laughed.

For a while they walked in companionable silence, the cold fall wind washing over them and pushing fallen leaves along the sidewalk with a crisp sound. A red leaf fell from a tree and landed in Lacy's hair. Liby plucked it out and grinned. "Sorry I can't leaf you alone," she said, "you're just too damn hot."

Lacy threw back her head and laughed. "God, you sound like your mom."

"I can't help it if I fall all over myself to make you laugh," Liby said, "I like the sound."

Lacy squeezed her sister's hand and shot her an affectionate glance, their eyes meeting and holding. They came to a shuffling stop and turned to face one another. Liby stroked Lacy's cheek with the back of her hand and pressed their foreheads together. "I love you, Lacy," she said.

"I love you too," Lacy said. Their heads tilted and they kissed in a fall of leaves and autumnal sunlight, their love for each other manifest in the tender meeting of tongues, and in the way they held each other's hips.

When the kiss broke, they stared longingly into each other's eyes. "Come on," Liby said reluctantly, "we gotta hurry."

Holding hands, they started home.

* * *

Lemy sat uncomfortably on the couch, one bent arm resting on the armrest (resting on the armrest...yeah, no wonder you're failing English) and the other palm down on his knee. Gwen sat next to him, her arms folded over her chest and her legs crossed at the knee. What, uh, what do I say to this girl? It's kind of awkward because...I mean, you saw, right? 1: she knows I'm in love with my sister. 2: she wants to be my girlfriend. 3: I don't know her...like at all. And 4: It's just awkward, okay?

He tapped his fingers on the armrest and listened to the commotion coming from the kitchen: Lori, Leni, and Mom were making dinner and his cake, so it was a clusterfuck of people in there, everyone stepping on each other and shit. Outta the way, chowderhead; n'yuk, n'yuk, n'yuk; oh, a wise guy, eh? Gwen uncrossed and recrossed her legs in a quiet rustle of fabric, and Lemy stole a sidelong glance at them. They were nice. Hell, she was nice. As far as looks go, yeah, okay, I'm there, dude, but love goes far beyond superficial stuff, you know? Take Lyra: She gets me, man. She knows a lot of the same stuff I do, she understands most of the shit I talk about, the little pop culture references I make...the ones I laugh my ass off about but everyone else is like huh? We like the same things, for the most part, and we're both chill. This one over here...she strikes me as another Leia, and I don't have dick in common with Leia. We're family and we both like what we do in bed, but that's it.

Wait, why am I justifying myself? Lyra's the one I want, okay?

Only...she doesn't want me, man...not in that way. It hurts like a bitch, but I can't be all mopey about it because I get it, you know? We're siblings with benefits, and that's all we were ever supposed to be, but my heart got in the way and now...I dunno.

Putting that aside and just focusing on Gwen...I don't think we're a match.

The front door opened and Liby and Lacy came in, their hands clasped. "Hey, bro!" Lacy called as she and Liby went up the stairs. "Happy Birthday, Lem," Liby said.

Lemy lifted his hand. "Thanks."

Alone again, with Gwen, Lemy rubbed his knee. The silence between them was getting heavier and more awkward, and he was starting to hope she decided to leave. He glanced at her, and she at him, a vixon's smile touching her lips. She scooted closer; her knee was touching his now, her arm pressed against his arm. "So, Freak, what do you like to do?" she asked. His eyes darted to her pouty lips, then to her sparkling brown eyes. Why can't Lyra look at me like that?

"Uh...I work on stuff," he said, "like radios and VCRs."

Her brow pinched cutely. "What's a VCR?"

Lemy blinked. Seriously? I know VCRs haven't been in fashion for a while, but you've never even heard of them? Yeah, swipe left. "It plays...you know, it's an old school DVD player."

Gwen nodded. "Ah. Sounds boring."

Lemy nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, it's lame. I'm not very much fun. Sorry.."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not looking to have fun."

She put her hand on his leg and dug her nails into the fabric of his jeans; a crackle of electricity shot down his spine and he jumped a litte, which made her giggle. She turned, swung her leg over both of his, and shifted into his lap; her weight was soft and warm, and her hands slid under his shirt, her head bowing and her hair brushing his face. He was blushing and starting to get hard despite himself. "I just want a boyfriend," she said and kissed his forehead.

"G-Great," Lemy said and flashed a sheepish smile. She ran her fingers through his hair and rolled her hips. Ummmm, shit…

"Maybe after the party we can go upstairs and play."

Lemy swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Yeah, sure, maybe."

Gwen kissed his forehead again, then climbed off of his lap - it was cold and lonely without her heat.

Damn it, I don't wanna be your boyfriend...but I'm so fucking weak. Like...whether I wanna be or not, all you gotta do is what you just did and I'm putty in your hands. Pretty fucking pathetic, huh? I'm the type of guy you can lead around by the dick; I'll do whatever you want just as long as you give me a little play now and then.

I gotta tighten up. Lyra might -

Nevermind.

Or not, because right then Lyra bounded down the stairs; Lemy tossed a glance over his shoulder, saw her, and tensed. Oh, man, there she is, be cool.

(She already knows)

She smiled and came over. "Hey, bro."

(How can I make her mine? I need her so bad, like air)

She looked at Gwen, who, Lemy just now noticed, had her hand on his leg...dangerously close to his ax. He couldn't help but think of her touch as possessive. "This your girlfriend?" Lyra asked with a little smile.

No! Don't be jealous, she's just…

Wait a minute.

If she's jealous…

Lemy smiled deviously. "Yeah," he said and slipped his arm around Gwen's shoulder. She preened like a satisfied cat and leaned into him, one hand splaying across his chest. "This is my girl. Her name's Gwen."

"Awesome," Lyra said, and the look in her eyes I'm-happy-for-ya-man made him frown. She turned to Gwen and offered her hand.. "I'm -"

"I know who you are," Gwen replied without looking up. Her tone was cold, dismissive.

Lyra's smile faltered and her arm dropped. "Oh, uh, okay." She glanced at the kitchen as if seeking a means of escape. "I'm gonna see if they need some help." She hurried off, and Lemy felt bad. Bad because it looked like she was kind of hurt...and because she didn't look the least bit jealous. He hung his head. Son of a bitch.

It was okay, though; he'd just have to ramp it up a little, you know? If she saw him being real affection and shit with Gwen, she might see him in a different light, like 'Whoa, she's a lucky girl, I want that."

Yeah, that's a good plan, right?

He turned to Gwen, and she smiled at him. He smiled back. What should I say? He tried to come up with something, but mercifully didn't have to; footsteps sounded on the stairs like a bell...a bell that saves you. He looked over his shoulder as his old man passed behind the sofa. "Hey, son," he said.

"Hey," Lemy replied.

Gwen twisted around, then turned to Lemy, her features puckered in a look of mild distaste. "That's your Dad?"

"Yep. That's, uh, that's pop."

"Ew, he's funky looking."

A laugh burst from Lemy's throat. At the threshold to the kitchen, Dad halted, his shoulders tensed; that made Lemy laugh even harder. Funky looking. LOL! It's true! Dad didn't move for a moment, almost like he was weighing whether or not to respond, then he disappeared around the corner.

Lemy shook his head and snickered. "Can you believe every woman he meets wants to fuck him?"

Gwen's face crinkled. "Ugh, gross. They must not have any taste." She slipped her hand between his legs and cupped his package. "I, on the other hand, do."

Lemy smiled. Good for me.

Now let's make Lyra jealous.

Oh, and they tried...or at least Lemy did. At dinner, he and Gwen sat next to each other, and he made it a point to hold her hand on top of the table, where God and everyone could see: Loan sneered; Liena tilted her head in confusion (like, do we have a new sister? Is she Auntie Lori's daughter?); Liby and Lacy looked at each other and shrugged; Leia watched with a smug little smirk (you owe me big for setting you up with my friend, Lemy Loud); Lupa stared blankly; Lizy and Lulu just didn't give a shit; and Lyra...fuckng Lyra. She ate and drank merrily and laughed at all of Dad's corny bitch ass jokes like he was Sam fucking Kennison or something. You're supposed to be eating your heart, not a hamburger!

After dinner, cake and ice cream were served because it's a birthday party, what else would they have? Lemy leaned over to Gwen and held the back of his hand to his mouth. "Hey," he whispered, "sit on my lap." He was looking at Lyra when he said this; she was oblivious.

Gwen's face lit up and she pushed away from the table. Lemy scooted his chair back and she sat on his knee. He snaked his arm around her hips and she giggled. Dad furrowed his brows but didn't say anything, Mom nodded encouragingly (that's my boy), and Auntie Leni cocked her head in a gesture almost identical to her daughter's (you, can, like, be with people outside your family?). Gwen picked Lemy's fork up, carved off a piece of cake, and brought it to his mouth, her other hand underneath, palm up, to catch any spillage. Feeding me! Good thinking! He wrapped his lips around the tines and moaned as if being fed cake by this girl was enough to make him cum. Look at me, Lyra, my girlfriend is feeding me birthday cake. Betcha wish it was you, huh?

Only, nope, Lyra was busy eating her own cake and chatting with Auntie Lucy.

Sigh.

Is she really not noticing any of this? What do I have to do, bend this girl over the table?

Gwen cut off another piece of cake and Lemy opened his mouth, only this time she didn't put it in, she slowly smeared it around his lips; her eyes twinkled and her mouth was open in a playful say ahhhh expression. Frosting coated his lips and chin. He winced and gamely waited for her to stop. I'm not a clean freak, but I like getting my food in and not on. You know?

"Oops," she said with a disingenuous hilt and sat the fork down. "I made a mess." She theaeded her arms around his neck and leaned in. "I better clean it up."

Huh?

She tilted her head and curled the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip slowly. Lemy's eyes widened and his heart stopped. She traced his mouth, her eyes staring naughtily into his; he slapped his hands to her hips and moved himself up...he was getting hard and goddamn this was so fucking hot brah like shit fuck damn. She purred and he couldn't take it anymore; he flicked her tongue with his and they kissed deeply, the taste of frosting and her sacchine saliva flooding his mouth. He ran his hands up her sides and jerked his hips again, the feeling of his dick prodding against her making him groan.

"Lemy?"

Gwen broke the kiss and Lemy looked across the table at his father.

"Not at the dinner table, please." He said this as casually as if Lemy had simply cracked a fart joke.

Lemy lifted a hand. "Sorry." He glanced over at Lyra. Did she see?

If so, she wasn't watching now.

You remember Grand Theft Auto 3? Someone would give you a job and if you fucked it up, the words MISSION FAILED flashed across the screen in big, humiliating letters. Yeah, that's what Lemy saw now. Haha, loser, you failed the mission, what a bitch, gotta go all the way back to Donald Love's place and start allllll over again. He blew a frustrated puff of breath through his teeth as Gwen sat up straight. She licked a dollop of frosting from the corner of her mouth and grazed her teeth over her bottom lip; she gave him fuck-me-eyes, he gave her I-wish-you-were-Lyra eyes.

After cake, he opened his presents. I won't even list who got him what because he just didn't care - he was down in the dumps and felt like crying. She's so achingly beautiful, so intelligent, so bright, so vivacious, so easygoing, so perfect. I don't fucking want Gwen. I don't want Leia or Lupa or anybody else...I want Lyra.

Just Lyra.

When the party was over, he walked Gwen to the front door. "I had fun today, Freak," she said and pressed her palm to his chest. He couldn't lie: He didn't have a terrible day either. Her being around blunted his depression a little, and he was thankful, because otherwise it would have been a totally sucktastic birthday instead of a very sucktastic birthday.

"I did too," he said.

"Maybe we can do something tomorrow?" she asked, her brows raising.

"Uh...I'm kind of busy," he lied, "maybe some other day."

A shadow of disappointment flickered across her face, but it was gone as soon as it had come. "Sure," she said. She pushed up on her tippy toes and pecked him, her teeth nipping his bottom lip. He shivered and she leaned heavily into him, her mouth dancing across his cheek. Into his ear, she whispered, "Don't cum with any of your sisters, Freak; save it for me."

She pulled away and smiled at his slack jawed shock. "See you later."

With that, she turned and walked into the gathering dusk.


	2. Pretend

**mantoniolealt: Thank you, I appreciate that. I haven't made any changes.**

**Guest: Nothing different, just a straight reupload.**

**Jeff: Thank you, man, that means a lot. I based a lot of Gwen's life and feelings on my own, as I did with Lemy. I chose to do that because I thought it would make them more relatable. **

* * *

**Lyrics to Get It Hot by AC/DC ( Volts version, 1997)**

Night is the best time for thinking: It's quiet, lonely, and there's nothing to do unless you get your ass out of bed - or reach out and grab your phone from the nightstand. Lemy spent most of Friday night and early Saturday morning lying awake in bed, his fingers laced behind his head and his eyes pointed the the ceiling, where orange light cast by a street lamp outside his window made surreal and expressionist shapes

Chiefly on his mind was Lyra; thoughts of her danced through his head like sepia-toned precious memories, and the pain in his chest became keener and keener as the harvest moon rode across the star splattered sky. I just want to be with her. That's all. I want to hold her and have her. I can't, though, and it's eating me up inside.

Gwen also occupied space in his head. The more he thought about her, the more confused he became. Leia said she really liked him, and he kind of felt like she did too...but she didn't even know him. How can you like someone you don't know? Before today, he spent a grand total of like two minutes in the same place as her. Maybe she thought he was hot, but wanting to bone someone is a lot different than liking them, right? Or am I overthinking things again? I have a bad habit of doing that; I get so fucking tangled up sometimes I can't even move. She acted like she was into him...but she also acted like a fucking nympho who only wanted to smash. If that's how it is, great, fine, I'm down with that, but I'm not about to be her little boyfriend.

And now that I'm really meditating, that shit I did downstairs was a bad fucking idea, you know, hugging and kissing up on her to make Lyra jealous. It, uh, it sends the wrong message. It says sweet little girl, I wanna be your boyfriend (that's The Ramones by the way) not okay, we did it...now go home. Not that I wanted her to go home, I kind of needed her, I just...I dunno. I'm giving myself a headache.

He shifted and tried to get comfortable but couldn't, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lyra on the backs of his lids - her loving smile and her eyes filled with tender affection. Her arms were out, beckoning him to her breast.

I'd make you so happy, Lyra, I'd do anything for you.

He sighed and rolled to the wall. He stared at it was sad eyes, his breathing short and ragged.

A lot of people carry pain with them, and unrequited love was his cross to bear.

Toward dawn, he fell into a thin, fitful sleep haunted by wispy phantoms that dissipated like smoke if you looked at them too long. Many of them looked like Lyra.

At some point, he tumbled deeper into unconsciousness, and didn't come awake again until much later; warm, golden sunlight fell through the window and bathed the bed in liquid fire. His mind rose slowly from the depths like an ancient PC booting on - reluctantly and with much protest. His first thought was of Lyra; his morning wood ached for her body's embrace and his arms ached to be around her. He second thought was of burying his face in the pillow and fleeing back into the folds of sleep; it was easier than getting up and carrying that goddamn cross around.

He tried, he really did, but when he was up, brother he was up. Sighing, he rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans, and grabbed his cross for the long trek up to Calvary.

When you think about it, the most unbelievable thing about the Bible was that one dude carried a whole fucking cross by himself. He could buy the jawbone story, the flood story, everything else - but Jesus hefting that goddamn thing all by himself? That's too much.

I'm joking, I know it's possible. I - God, I'm so fucking sick of explaining myself to people. I know it's fucking emo and cliche and whiney to say I'm so misunderstood, but it's true, man, I am. It's like...there's a gulf between me and everyone else, and my voice doesn't carry right. You only hear snippits and not the full thing.

You know who does hear the full thing?

Lyra.

Lyra hears it all.

And am I really a bitch for wanting someone who understands me? For wanting love and acceptance? I am? Fine, I'm a bitch. There. I'm a big fat pink quivering bitch and I'm never going to be anything else, so fuck off and go somewhere else if you can't accept me.

When he slipped into the hall, he found it empty, the way lit by daylight spilling through open doorways. He heard the TV and sibling chatter; hard to pick out voices when they're all talking at once. Shit, how late is it?

Scratching his ass, he went to the bathroom, took a fat piss (ahhh, better than sex), and, on a whim, hopped in the shower. As he stood under the spray, the water beating down on his hair and sluicing along his back, he did his level best to think of something other than Lyra - of her voice, the way her hair blazed in the light of the sun, the breathy noises she made when he made love to her. It was Saturday, he should do something fun. Like…

Like…

Take a walk? There's not really much to do in a town like Royal Woods. The arcade, but all the games there blew; it's like the owner went to every diner and dive bar along the turnpike, bought the machines no one played, and brought the all together in a place of perpetual suckitude. Mappy and some dumb ass Street Fighter knock off where the characters are literally fat and slow. It was called Fat Fighter 3000 and had the LJN rainbow seal of shit on the loading screen. You know all about LJN, right? You've seen the old Angry Video Game Nerd episodes on YouTube, haven't you? That dude was boss. How'd his theme go? He's gonna take you back to the past...to play the shitty games that suck ass...something, something dump in his ear. Hahahaha.

Speaking of angry, you know who else was cool? The Angry Grandpa: This fat old guy who looked like Santa Claus and threw raging bitch fits whenever shit didn't go his way. In one video he tore down his kitchen because his candy went missing (he later found it on the counter...right in front of his face), and in another he threw hot coffee on his son for posting a video of him online. The son was, like, twenty, and when that coffee hit him he sank to the ground and wailed like a little girl. Check it: He sits there sullenly for a minute after his old man stormed off, then gets us and goes after him. I'm leaving, I'm going to Alabama, you fat of a bitch. Hahahahahaha. A lot those videos were staged. Had to be. Some of the earlier ones, though...like where he's barbecuing chicken and it's all burned and shit, and everyone's making fun of him. He flashes, flips the grill, and goes there's your goddamn cookout. Lemy laughed so hard at that shit he almost pissed himself.

Another thing that made him almost piss himself were the old Impractical Jokers reruns they occasionally played on TruTV: Four dumbasses running around New York City daring each other to do stupid shit. Hey, stick your dick in that industrial fan or you lose the challenge. LOL.

Now where was I with my ADD ass? Angry stuff, right? Hm, I'm not angry so - oh, yeah. The arcade sucks and aside from that, there's nothing to do in this town, not that there's anything to do anywhere. Where am I gonna go, Sears? Taco Bell? Uh...there's really nowhere I wanna go and nothing I wanna do. Tacos do sound good, though.

Then it hit him.

That fucking omelette I wanted! Remember waaaaay back he was trying to get his grub on at IHOP and that asshole Mama Juicy made him order a steak instead? Yeah, well, she got hers; they gave her an IQ test and she flunked so they moved her ass to special ed. LOL! I'm not laughing because she's retarded, I don't think she is - which makes it hysterical. She's sitting in thee probably hating it with a passion. Hahaha.

Anyway, it's fuckin' omelette time, bitch!

Grinning ear-to-ear, Lemy cut the spray, grabbed a towel from the drying rack, and wrapped it around his body. Ome-lette time, bitch! Ome-lette time, bitch! He hummed to the tune of that 'Bright and Shiny' song from Bubble Boy. You know, the one with a mad young Jake Gyllenhaal. There were these cultists and -

Fuck it, find it yourself or don't: To paraphrase Eric Cartman, screw you guys, I'm going to IHOP.

In just his jeans, he danced like a fag down the hall, shaking his hips and throwing up painfully lame jazz hands. People all across the land, come and join our happy hand, always happy never gay, eating omelettes is AOK. Ome-lette time, bitch; ome-lette time, bitch. In his room, he threw on a thin black sweater, shrugged into his army coat, and grabbed a black knit cap from the dresser. How do I look? Omelettey enough for the omelette club? He went to the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror. I look kinda like Country Joe at Woodstock.

Gimme an O

Gimme an M

Gimme an E

500,000 stoned teenagers: OMELETTE!

That or the skinny dude from Jay and Silent Bob.

In his room, he rummaged in his sock drawer for his money, found it, and decided to roll a quick joint before he left. Crossing to the desk, he sat, took out his weed and a packet of papers, and rolled a fat doob...you know, to enjoy on the walk over. Omelettes are best when you got the munchies, mang.

Done, he shoved it into his breast pocket, got up, and went downstairs. Loan, Lupa, and Lyra were sitting on the couch, Loan playing one of those handheld fag games, Lupa drawing and puffing on a generic cigarette, and Lyra being beautiful. She reminded him of that Byron poem he read in English class:

She walks in beauty, like the night

On cloudless climes and starry skies

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes

He sighed dreamily and hurried past before she could favor him with those dark, bright eyes, every cast of which was like a knife in his heart...and the salve that healed it.

In the dining room, Lizy was sitting at the table and coloring a picture of a dinosaur. Across from her was Leia and…

...someone else…

Someone who looked mighty Gwenish.

Lemy's step faltered when they both looked up at him; they wore matching smiles and both had sin in their eyes. "Hey, Freak," Gwen said, "I was about to come get you."

"Me too," Leia hummed.

Lemy felt a little something something happening downstairs, but shoved it away. I don't wanna be a mindless fuck dragged around by his dick, and the first step to achieving that was to be firm with Gwen. I'm not your boyfriend, honey...but we can be friends. "Good thing you didn't, I woulda been pissed." He went into the kitchen before either could reply; he didn't see them grinning conspiratorially at each other.

Alright, he thought and put his hands on his hips, why did I even come this way? IHOP is in the other direction, genius.

I was on autopilot again. Dad does the same shit: He'll be deep in thought and BOOM, down goes Frazier. Turning on his heels, he went back into the dining room and stared for the door, but Gwen's voice stopped him. "Where're you going, Freak?"

"I, uh, I have errands to run," he said.

"Oh," Leia said, "that's too bad, we were going to go to the mall -"

"Nice."

"- with Lyra."

He tensed slightly at the mention of her name. "That sounds like a blast, but I have shit I have to do, so...have fun." His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but he didn't really care.

Without waiting for a response, he went into the living room and out the front door; the day was blustery and cold, and a wind driven leaf slapped him in the face like a bad omen. I don't need this little girl following me around thinking I'm her boyfriend. It's my fault for doing what I did yesterday, and it's my fault because I'm too much of a bitch to come outright and say I'm not your boyfriend, now fuck off. Okay, I realize that. I just -

He was on the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head bowed against the breeze, when Gwen called out. He stopped and looked over his shoulder; she hurried after him, the wind fluttering her skirt. Alright, dude, tell her. Be nice about it, don't break her heart (if she's even really into you)...just let her down gently. I don't feel the same way, sorry.

She came up and flashed a strained smile. "Room for one more?"

Lemy turned to face her. "No, there isn't, I'm...I'm very busy. Plus…"

Gwen's face fell a little, and she glanced hurriedly down at her feet. When she looked up again, Lemy was taken aback by the deep hurt in her eyes. "Look, I just want to spend time with you," she said, and there was a clear edge of pleading in her voice that pierced him like a thousand tiny icicles. "We don't have to go to the mall. W-We can do whatever you want. I don't care. I just want to be with you. Okay?" She reached up and touched his cheek; her hand was clammy, cold. The wind blew strands of her hair across her face, obscuring her begging eyes. "Please?" Her brows lifted and her pupils dilated slightly. He'd seen that same expression from his sisters a million times over the years: It meant she was being open...honest.

She wanted to spend time with him.

Desperately.

A thousand different things made him nod and say, "Okay." The sadness in her face, the longing in her eyes, the tremble in her voice, the fleeting realization that maybe (just maybe) she felt kind of the way he did with Lyra or Lacy, you know, back when he was into her. He wasn't sure, but he knew how that shit felt...and he couldn't do it...he couldn't tell her no and possibly see her cumple from the inside out. Going along with something that you don't want to go along with...man, it's easy to stand back and say Well, ya shouldn't have done that, dumbass, and maybe the people saying that are right, but...he didn't have the heart.

Her smile was like the sun breaking through dark clouds, and she clutched his hand in hers, her fingers weaving through his and squeezing tightly.

Inside, Leia was still sitting at the table. When they entered, she grinned cockily. "Are you finished with those errands?"

"Yes," Lemy said, and looked at Gwen, "let's go to the mall."

* * *

Liby lay flat on her stomach, a pair of noise cancelling headphones over her ears and a pair of thick shooting glasses covering her eyes. She was dressed in tight jeans and a red, white, and blue plaid shirt, her hair pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail. Next to her, Lacy wore similar headphones and glasses; she was dressed in jeans and a tight red sweater that hugged her budding form and made it really hard to concentrate.

The butt of the HK was pressed into the crook of her right shoulder, her left hand wrapped around the vertical grip; her holding a rifle made her ten times sexier than usual, and Liby was feeling pangs of desire in her nether regions; if this wasn't so important, she'd mount her sister right here and make love to her until her cries rang through the woods like nymph song.

"Line it up the way I showed you," Liby said.

They were in a clearing serviced by a narrow dirt road three miles northwest of Route 29, just over the Elk Park town line. Densely packed forest pressed in on three sides: Ahead, the Royal River twinkled in the light of the sun, flashes of it visible through a thin layer of trees. You could hear it from here splashing and gurgling like the voice of a woodland elder - all seeing, all knowing, and all disapproving.

Three paper targets - black silhouettes - were lined up side-by-side, a space of fifteen feet between each. On either side was a hay bale stacked with soda cans, each filled with rocks so that the wind didn't knock them over. Lacy pressed one eye to the HK's scope, squinted the other, and regulated her breathing. In...out...in...out...in -

BLAM!

A hole appeared to the left of the closet target's head. "Shit," Lacy hissed and threw her head back in a show of frustration. The wind rustled her pale brown hair and caressed her reddened cheeks.

Liby reached out and rubbed a comforting circle in the small of her sister's back. "It's okay, try again."

Lacy shoved the stock into her shoulder, lined up another shot, and inhaled.

BLAM!

Another hole; this round barely grazed the target's shoulder. "Goddamn it!" Lacy spat and threw the rifle down. She pushed up to her knees and rocked back. "I'm no good in that position."

Honestly, Lacy was no good in any position. Except close. The HKs were military grade and featured a fully automatic setting - meaning that you could hold the trigger down and spray. In semi-auto mode, you got one round per trigger pull. Lacy was good with full auto, but had yet to master the fine art of semi-auto. For the upcoming operation against Montoya, full-auto would work, but Liby wanted her sister to be able to work her way around the rifle on any setting, at any range, and under any condition. Some might say she was being picky, but she saw it as being thorough.

"That's why we're practicing," Liby said now.

Lacy shot her a dirty look, then glared at the target. She wouldn't admit it, but she was nervous, and when she was nervous, she had a tendency to tremble, which made lining up a shot just a tad difficult. She wanted to impress Liby, she wanted to make Liby proud, and the pressure to succeed now was far greater than it had ever been on the field. Plus, when you have a sexy ass girl all stretched out next to you, watching you with big, pretty eyes, you get distracted. Know what I'm saying?

With a sigh, Lacy grabbed the HK and flattened herself into the grass again, legs far apart, right elbow braced against the ground. "Breathe in...hold it...and fire. Don't let yourself get frustrated, if you do you'll spoil your aim. Line the bead up and - "

BLAM!

This one hit the target dead center - not the heart, but close enough that if it was a real guy, he'd be out of the fight. "Good job!"

Lacy's lips curled up in a proud smile. "I got his ass," she said with a happy infection, "finally." She turned to Liby and stuck out her bottom lip. "Now?"

Liby giggled. "No, not yet. I want a headshot and a heartshot, then you can do it."

The younger girl's pout deepened, but she turned back to the target and lined up another shot, her back gently rising and falling. Liby watched and fought the urge to reach out and touch her...the curve of her back, the swell of her butt in those tight, tight jeans...ummm, she was getting wet. Hopefully she would be able to focus during the coming operation; if she didn't, things might get hairy.

BLAM!

This one tore out silhouette guy's throat. "Damn it," Lacy drew and hung her head. "My hands shake too much." She turned to Liby. "How do you do it?"

For a long time, Liby considered her reply. To be honest, she didn't really know how she did it, she just did - the way the artist draws, the writer writes, and the sun also rises. When she picked up a gun, she entered The Zone, and when she was in The Zone, she did a lot of things that she couldn't explain...she could explain the whys (because I had to) but not the hows. Like hand-to-hand. She was proficient in taekwondo, judo, karate, aikido, MACP, and a dozen other martial art styles - she went through a lot of training and while she could remember every lesson, she struggled to pass that knowledge on because she took so naturally to it. To her, it was second nature.

"I just do," she said. "I clear my mind, control my breathing, and - "

She cut off when the sound of an engine filled the day. She and Lacy turned just as a green and white Bronco appeared on the road. Liby's gaze went to the red and blue roof lights, and she rolled her eyes. It emerged from the forest and crossed the clearing, its big tires crunching grass and dirt. Lacy's face paled and sat the gun down. It wasn't me.

I wonder who this could be, Liby thought as if she didn't already know. She slung her own HK over her shoulder and jumped up as Harold Gleason, sheriff of Elk Park, climbed out: He was a short, fat man with glasses and a gut/hips combo that spilled over the waistband of his khaki pants like he was melting. He wore a brown shirt with a gold star over his flabby left breast, a white Stetson, and a pair of polarized Aviators that reflected the world like two dirty mirrors. His corpulent body jiggled with every step and his breathing was labored even though he'd barely gone three feet. He paused by the Bronco's front end and put his hands on his hips. Lacy was getting nervously to her feet now, suddenly very self-conscious about the FN Five-Seven on her hip.

"I should have known the pain in my ass was you," he said to Liby. His voice was an effeminate high-pitched whine that never failed to grate on Liby's nerves.

The trick with people who make you want to strangle them is to be as happy and sweet as possible. 1: It pisses them off; 2: it shows them that they don't bother you even though they do; and 3: By focusing on being nice, you don't have to focus on keeping from karate chopping their head off. "Good morning," she chirped, "sorry about the noise, I was just teaching my sister how to shoot. I hope that's not a problem." She and Lacy were standing feet away from him now, side-by-side, Lacy staring at the ground and Liby at Gleason, her head held high and her chin out.

Gleason turned from one girl to the other, a sour expression on his face. "Well, you see, it is a problem. That thing on your back -" he nodded at Liby's rifle - "it isn't legal, now is it?"

"I can show you my government carry card again if you want," Liby said and reached into her back pocket. She preened as she slipped it from her wallet. "It's signed by the president, the director of the FBI, and the director of the AFT. Pretty cool, huh?"

She held it out.

Gleason looked at it, then at her. "I don't care what you got in that little wallet of yours, I don't appreciate you carrying a goddamn grenade launcher in my town."

Liby gamely returned the issue card to her wallet and slipped out two one hundred dollar bills; they flapped crisply in the wind as she held them out. Gleason glared...then took them and shoved them into his hip pocket. "If I hear one explosion," he said and jabbed a finger at Liby, "I'm coming back and you're going to jail."

It took a lot of effort not to laugh; if he ran her in, he'd be the one who lost out in the end. She had papers, after all, and when someone had the kinds of papers she did, you left them alone or faced the consequences. She smiled prettily. "We won't use the grenade launchers. I promise."

Lacy fidgeted and blushed when Gleason looked at her. "Next time you girls wanna play Rambo, do it somewhere else." He turned, got back into the Bronco, and pulled a wide U-turn, the vehicle shaking and jostling as it disappeared down the road. Lacy let out a pent-up sigh.

"Don't worry about him," Liby said, "he's all bark and no bite."

"Maybe we should go," Lacy said uncertainly.

Instead, Liby unslung the rifle from her shoulder and marched defiantly back to their spot. "We'll leave when I have that headshot. And that heartshot."

Lacy stared at her for a moment, then smiled, shook her head, and came over. Liby was unflappable; nothing, absolutely nothing unseated her. She was calm, cool, and collected in even the worst of situations. It was a trait that Lacy admired...and loved.

Stretching out next to her sister, she wedged the butt of the HK into her her shoulder and aimed at the target, lining the sights with its head and reulatinging her breathing the way Liby showed her. She wanted to make this shot, not for her but for Liby.

BLAM!

The round tore through the top of the target's skull...just low enough to do serious damage if it were a person.

"Not bad," Liby said.

"Does it count?" Lacy asked.

"Yep!"

Next she aimed at the heart and did the same.

BLAM!

A hole appeared in the target's midsection and Lacy hung her head. Jittery with nerves. Goddamn it.

"Try again," Liby said and patted her butt, which made her smile. If Liby believed in her, she cold do anything.

She aimed, lined up the sight with the target's heart, and squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!

The round struck dead center, ripping the heart to shreds. Excitement rose in Lacy's chest and she whipped her head to Liby, light shining in her eyes. "Good job!" Liby said.

Lacy leaned in and they kissed. "Now?" Lacy asked.

"Yes," Liby laughed, "now you can do it."

Lacy's face lit up. She got to her knees, switched the rifle to full auto, and fired from the hip, raking back and forth. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. The targets ripped to shreds, the soda cans flew back, and bits of hay were blasted from the bales; a few bullets struck the ground, kicking up clouds of dirt. A savage smile touched Lacy's lips and and her face glowed. Liby watched with hazy eyes, spent casings flying from the chamber and littering the ground.

Click-click-click.

Lacy frowned at the rifle. "Sis, I'm outta juice."

Liby got to her knees, took the rifle away, and dropped it to the ground. She took Lacy's face in her hands and kissed her deeply. Lacy kissed her too, and shortly they were on the ground, Lacy flat on her back and Liby straddling her. Lacy's hands were on her hips, and her hands were up Lacy's shirt, kneading her small breasts as she slid her hips; they hot sexes rubbed slickly together, and their moans of passion mingled, turning from pants of pleasure to loud, quivering moans of ecstasy.

And when they came, the whole world heard.

* * *

Int. The mall - day.

Sunlight cascades through a skylight window, dappling the tile floor. A stone fountain surrounded by green, leafy plants occupies a wide space. People sit on benches, ride escalators, and browse high end storefronts. A man stands by a kiosk hawking cell phone accessories, and a stone-faced security guard with a bulging gut walks an endless beat.

Lemy walked slowly, his fingers stitched through Gwen's and a strained smile on his face. Her palm was damp with sweat, and for some reason that was the grossest shit ever; he tried a couple times to pull away, but she held fast, like glue, and he eventually gave up.

Ahead, Lyra, Liena, and Leia moved three abreast, their wonderfilled gazes whipping back and forth; kids in a candy store, Lemy thought to himself. His eyes went to Lyra's butt: She wore tight hip-hugger jeans and a purple jacket that, unfortunately, covered the skin exposed by her little belly shirt. Hmmm.

"Where do you wanna go, Freak?" Gwen asked and squeezed his hand.

"IHOP," Lemy said honestly.

"IHOP?" Gwen laughed. "What's at IHOP?"

Leia and Liena went up to the window of a clothing boutique and stared at the well-dressed mannequins with wide-eyed excitement. "That dress is so cute," Liena said.

"Omelettes." Lyra kept walking, and Lemy followed, losing himself in the sway of her hips until Gwen brought him crashing back to earth.

"You're going too fast again, slow down."

Lemy's stride was quick and even - he didn't dawdle like other kids oh, look at me, I'm Lightning Larry Luciano, gimme two hours and I'll be a quarter of the way there. Walking too slow was kind of...uncomfortable. With Gwen playing tag-along-hold-my-hand, he had no choice but to ease up...or else drag her along like a favorite blanket.

Man, I fucked up big. I know trying to make Lyra jealous yesterday was dumb. I was desperate, okay? And when you're desperate, you do dumb things. I straight up said this is my girl, Gwen. And before that, when she said oh, do you want a girlfriend, Freak, I didn't say no...I stuck my tongue in her mouth and had sex with her. I should have said no, I don't, but we can still fuck. Yeah, shoulda, woulda, coulda, now I'm kind of stuck.

I'm not a bad guy, I'm really not, I didn't mean to string her along, I just had a momentary lapse of reason (isn't that a Floyd song?).

What do I do now, though? I'm conflicted. I...look, I know I have self-esteem issues (yeah, yeah, I'm a bitch), so when she says she likes me, I'm suspicious. You like me? You're full of shit, girl, what's your angle? There's gotta be more to it than her being into me. That's how I feel at least, and even though in my head I question it, in my heart I'm certain.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right; I'm not entirely sure she really likes me, but I kind of think maybe she does, and that's a real fucking problem. If she didn't, if she had ulterior motives, I'd tell her to get lost...even as a friend with benefits; I can't do that if she is into me because I know how fucking much shit like that hurts and I don't wanna hurt her like that, man, I don't. I should probably suck it up, though, huh? I'm just not interested in her that way.

Then again...maybe I should try it out, you know? Why not? Lyra and I are never going to happen, so I gotta move on...I can't pine broken-hearted forever. Gwen seems okay. I doubt we have much in common (though that shit she said about Dad had me rolling), but...hey, we're not talking marriage here, just...hey, let's see where it goes.

He stole a sidelong glance at Gwen, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye, her lips creeping up in a smile. "What?" she asked playfully.

She was attractive...and a fucking demon in the sack (like Homer's mom...sigh, another ref she wouldn't get). It felt kind of wrong, though. His heart didn't belong to her...and it probably never would; it would always be Lyra's and no one else's. Isn't that unfair to Gwen...and to me?

"What?" she pressed. She was looking at him full on now, a twinkle in her eyes.

I'm overthinking shit again. I'm thirteen and she's, like, eleven. I need to loosen up. "You're just...you look really pretty."

A blush burst across her face and she giggled, her head ducking and her hair falling across her profile like a veil. "Thank you," she said, "you're pretty hot too."

"Thanks," he said. He was blushing now too.

I can make this work, he thought.

Lemy stood awkwardly in the middle of a fancy women's clothing store across from Hot Topic - Blink 182 drifted to his ears and made him wince; those guys sucked almost as much as Linkin Park.

The girls rummaged through a rack of dresses, each one oohing, ahhhing, and chattering excitedly. Lemy sighed and let his gaze drift to the lacy negligee lining the far wall; man, Lyra would look so good in those.

Gwen took a dress from the rack and turned to him with a smile. "How's this?" she asked. It was light pink with a brown X pattern. Lemy's eyes flicked from the negligees to her and back again. "It's nice," he grunted absently. Her brow furrowed and she turned to follow his line of sight, then smiled. "You like that stuff, Freak?"

"It's alright," Lemy said.

She smirked. "You want me to wear something like that?"

Ten minutes later, he sat on a bench outside the dressing rooms, his back stiff and his hands clasped to his knees. Gwen, Liena, and Leia all took a shit ton of clothes with them and something told him he'd be here awhile.

Presently, the middle door opened and Leia stepped out in a dress with a floral design. She cocked one leg and put her hands on her hips. "How do I look?"

"Good," he said honestly. Leia looked good in anything, though. And in nothing.

Smiling, she turned and went back into the changing room, lifting the hem of her dress and giving him a brief flash of her butt; she smiled over her shoulder bit the tip of her finger between her teeth.

Lemy's dick started to wake. Don't start without me, brah!

For a while he was alone with his thoughts, then the farthest door opened and Gwen stuck her head out. "Hey, Freak, can you come here?"

Lemy got to his feet and went over, her smile widening as he approached. She stepped aside and he entered - like a fly into a spider's trap: She closed the door and thumbed the lock. "How's this?" she asked.

She wore a see through pink thing with a frilly hem that brushed the tops of her thighs. The straps were a little too big, and one fell down her shoulder in a coy but sexy way. He wasn't an expert on women's clothes, but he was pretty sure that something like that came with underwear, but she sure as shit wasn't wearing any.

Lemy swallowed thickly and blushed. "Uh, you look really nice," he said.

"Do I?" she asked huskily.

"Yeah," he nodded.

She strutted forward...and dropped to her knees. Lemy's eyes widened. "Hey, what…?"

She undid the button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper. His member popped out like Jack Nicholson in The Shining (hereeeeeee's Lemy!). He gaped down at her; she rolled her eyes up and wrapped her fingers around his length. On the one hand….damn...on the other, we're in public, dude; he could hear people talking on the other side of the door, and if someone saw them somehow, they'd be in deep shit. "Gwen…" he said.

She curled her tongue against his tip, and he shuddered. The fires of hell were igniting in his loins and if he wasn't careful they would consume him. "G-Gwen," he said, "w-we shouldn't…"

Putting her lips to his head, she pushed down, her mouth sheathing him. Lemy threw his head back and nnghed.

Alright, fuck getting caught. He theaded his fingers through her hair as she pulled back and stared up at him with bright eyes. "I have an idea," she said.

"W-What?"

She laid her hands on her knees. "Fuck my mouth."

Int. FYE. Thirty minutes later - Day.

Lemy scratched his nuts with one hand and flipped through a stack of CDs with the other; he was itching like crazy because things went a little too far in the dressing room: What started as a blowjob ended with him shoving Gwen against the wall and doing her from behind. She propped one leg up on the bench and bent over, her forehead pressing against the mirror; something about seeing her reflection as he did her was really fucking exciting.

Anyway, he plucked a CD out, flipped it over, and absently scanned the tracklisting. Gay. He put it back and looked up at Lyra, who was methodically going through the F section. "Here you go, man." She grinned, pulled out a CD, and handed it to him. He took it and glanced at the cover.

"Frankie Goes to Hollywood?" he asked with a sniff. "You trying to tell me something?"

Lyra shrugged. "I'm not saying anything."

A few minutes later, he was at the A section when she came over. "I found a couple more things for you, dude." She held four CDs in her hand. He snatched them away and looked at them: Elton John, George Michael, The Village People, and The Culture Club. They all had something in common. Can you guess what it is? "Take this shit outta my face," he laughed. She took the CDs back and stuck her tongue out.

When she was gone, he sighed deeply.

See, man? She was perfect.

Shaking his head, he found the AC/DC row and idly flipped through. Were Leia and Liena almost done at the clothing store? Damn, they'd been there for nearly an hour.

"Hey," Gwen said from his elbow. She was holding a CD with some gay ass boy band on the front.

Lemy almost rolled his eyes. "Hey," he replied.

"Find anything you like?" she asked.

He started to reply that he didn't, but then he saw it: A long box case with AC/DC on the cover in flames. Above that was a picture of Bon Scott carrying Angus Young on his shoulders, Angus shredding his guitar and looking like a man possessed...by rock. BONFIRE the title said. Oh, I heard of this; it has a bunch of rare shit on it. LOL, that's what YouTube is for.

Curious, he picked it up and turned it over. Five CDs, booklet...typical 'hey, look, special release' deal. Gwen leaned over his shoulder, her hand going to his hip and her body smooshing against his. What are they whacking people for this these days? He found the price tag and gaped. "Holy fuck, man, eighty bucks?" He laughed. "Only a real idiot would bu -"

Gwen snatched it from his hand. "I'll get it for you," she chirped.

Lemy blinked. "No, I don't want it, I was -"

"That's okay," she said easily and flashed an encouraging smile, "it's only eighty dollars." She patted his butt and kissed his shoulder. "You're worth it."

Int. The mall. Much, much, much later - Day

Three hours in and counting, Lemy dropped onto a metal bench facing a Forever 21 - always reminded him of the Forever 27 Club. You know, the - nevermind. Gwen sat next to him and sat a bag between her legs: In it was her sexy little pink thing, his CDs, a pair of shoes for her, and a big silver chain with a pot leaf on it that she insisted on getting him. He made the mistake of looking at it too long in Spencer's (I like to smoke but that shit's tacky) and...well...now he owned it.

Leia sat on his other side, and Lyra and Liena sat on the bench behind them. "I got something for you, Lemy," Leia said with a frisky hilt. She reached into her bag and pulled out a package. Inside was a little purple egg looking thing and a remote control.

Lemy lifted his brow. "What is it?"

"It's a game," Leia said. She snuggled up to him and tapped the egg-thing. "I put this in my pussy, and when you push the button" - she tapped the remote, her big blue eyes turning up to him - "it vibrates."

Uhhhh…

She giggled cutely. "It has three different settings - slow, medium, and hard...depending on how much you want me to squirm."

The Log was stirring. Again.

"You can make me cum anywhere, anytime, and all I'll be able to do it sit there and take it." Her lips were against his ear now, her breath hot, her voice slurry with lust. "Maybe we can try it out when we get home."

Making her cum whenever he wanted without even touching her - now that was hot. "S-Sure," he said and grinned, "that sounds hot."

Gwen leaned into his other ear and cupped his growing bulge. "I prefer to cum the old fashion way." She kissed his neck and squeezed him. Leia sipped her hand up her shirt and kissed the other side of his throat.

So much later that the old narrator got tired of waiting and they had to hire a new one

Lemy sat in a narrow picture booth with Leia on one side and Gwen on the other. A screen flashed with text, then the camera whirred into life.

"Okay, Freak," Gwen said.

The screen: 3...2...1…

Both girls turned and kissed one of his cheeks; a little blush crept across the bridge of his nose and his mouth did that cartoonish I'm embarrassed, dude squiggle thing. Next, Gwen climbed into his lap, threw her arms around his neck, and preened for the camera like the cat who got the canary. Lemy couldn't help but smile a little.

After that, it was Leia's turn. She took his face in her hands and shoved her tongue into his mouth. He responded in the only way he he could: By grabbing her butt and kissing her back.

Gwen upped the ante by whipping his dick out and brushing her thumb across the tip. You couldn't see it n the resulting picture: You saw one boy, face red and eyes wide, and two girls staring down at his lap, his sister grinning devilishly and his girlfriend biting her lip.

"Alight," Leia said suggestively when it was over, "I'm ready to go."

"Hmmm, me too," Gwen said and slipped her hand up Lemy's shirt.

And by 'go' they meant go, Lemy suspected.

_Young women, I love them_

_Don't matter if they're black or white_

_And I'm thinkin' 'bout you, baby_

_And what we're gonna do tonight_

Leia pounced, knocking him back against the bed and caging his legs between her knees; her hands pinned his shoulders and her nails bit into his flesh. She leered down at him with a pervert grin and aberrant eyes. He could feel her heat through his jeans, and his dick jerked against the inside of his jeans like a dog on a leash. She ran her hands down his chest and bent, her blonde hair sweeping across his forehead and sending a shiver down his spine. He threw a suspicious glance at Gwen, who knelt next to them, watching with her hands on her knees and a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips. Uh...you're supposed to be my girl, right? You're okay with this?

Perhaps seeing the question in his eyes, and loomed forward and planted her hands on the bed. "Do it," she said huskily, "I wanna see you fuck your sister."

Lemy swallowed.

Leia tossed her hair and kissed the spot where his neck and shoulder met. "Hmmm, so do I." She nipped his ear and giggled when he jumped.

_Get it hot_

_I've got the junction, you've got the spot_

_Get it hot_

_You don't want a little, gonna give you a lot_

_Get it hot_

Leia's cheek rubbed against his, her heart pounded against his heart. Their hips rocked in time, his up, hers down; he dug his nails into the soft flesh of her butt and she held onto the mattress for dear life. "Y-Y-You're n-not doing it r-r-right," she hitched, "you're t-turning m-me of-off." The way her juices coat his dick and thighs and matted his pubic hair told him that was a lie.

Gwen watched from the sidelines, her cheeks a beautiful shade of red and her eyes hazy with desire.

She wanted it too.

Badly.

He held his hand out, and she leaned in, their lips meeting and their tongues lashing one with thirsty zeal. Leia pumped her hips faster, the collision of their bodies prouding a meaty slap-slap-slap. Gwen threaded one hand through Lemy's hair, and one through Leia's.

_Good livin', good lovin'_

_It's all I ever wanna do_

_Sun City, moon risin'_

_I wanna make a mess of you_

Gwen was on her hands and knees, her skirt lifted over her back and her bare ass spread for him. He grabbed her hips and jammed his dick against her entrance; she jumped forward and giggled. Leia knelt next to Gwen, running her fingers through her hair and smiling. Gwen looked up...Leia leaned in...and they kissed as Lemy drove himself into her: Her walls caressed him and her heat flowed into him, filling his brain with smoke. He increased his speed and the kiss deepened, Leia rocking and bouncing on her knees and Gwen fisting handfuls of the blanket. She stretched forward, and Lemy's eyes fell on her pretty pink ass hole. He had the sudden urge to touch it, and he did, his thumb rubbing a frenetic circle. Gwen moaned into Leia's mouth. She pulled away and looked at him over her shoulder. "Put your dick in."

She didn't have to tell him twice; he yanked out and held his tip to her butt. She pushed back at the same time he slammed forward: His dick launched into her, and she cried out and bowed her head. Leia, cheeks crimson and eyes sparkling blue, watched with a sneer of disgust. "You are never doing that to me," she said.

_Get it hot_

_I've got the junction, you've got the spot_

_Get it hot_

_You don't want a little, gonna give you a lot_

_Get it hot_

Gwen pinned Leia's hands to the bed and plundered her mouth with her tongue. Both were naked now except for their socks; their seeping core ground together, and Lemy gaped like a fool, his chin touching his chest.

Jesus on his fucking cracker, my dude, this is the hottest shit ever. He reached out and laid his hand on Leia's hip, then moved it up her sleek side, his fingers trailing her warm flesh. She pulled away from Gwen and looked at him, her eyes wild and her hair messy. "Get your ass in here."

In two seconds he was flat on his back between them, Leia tongue-raping the inside of his mouth and Gwen stroking his leaking rod. He ran his hand down Leia's tight stomach and followed the heat to her well source; he stroked her with his fingers and she gasped into his mouth. When he pushed two of them in, she arched her back and broke the kiss. "Ooooh, fuck," she moaned, her teeth grazing her lower lip. Gwen stroked faster, her hand making a wet slick sound as it spread his precum along his length. She let go, scooted down, and took his in her mouth, her fingers massaging soft circles in his balls. His face was in the crook of Leia's neck and she was panting heavily into his ear. "Fuck me" she hitched.

_Your mommy, your daddy_

_Told ya 'bout the birds and the bees_

_Mouth drippin' wild honey_

_Goin' down around your knees_

Leia spread her legs and Lemy sank himself into her with a grunt. She threw her hips up and took him all the way to the opening of her womb; her eyes crossed and her body clamped around him. He drew back and shot forward again; her breathing was erratic, her face burning, her body shaking. Lemy paused and frowned. "You okay?"

"I-I'm cumming," she trembled.

"Already?"

Kneeling next to him, Gwen giggled.

"S-S-S-S-Shut u-u-uhhhhp," Leia winced.

Lemy leaned in and kissed his sister's forehead as her orgasm flowed through her. "That was disappointing," he said.

"F-F-Fuck y-you, Lemy L-Loud."

_You got it and I want it_

_We can make a fair exchange_

_One body, one dollar_

_And maybe you can keep the change_

Gwen shifted onto his lap and her soft core skipped wetly across the head of his dick. Leia knelt behind her and snaked her hands through her armpits, cupping her breasts. She kissed Gwen's neck. "I have a game we can play, Freak," Gwen panted and swiveled her hips; her lips brushed across his tip, wet silk on burning iron. Lemy squirmed like a broken bug. "W-What g-game?"

Leia was kissing Gwen's cheeks now and rubbing her swollen nipples with the pads of her thumbs. Gwen panted, her eyes filled with lustful abandon. She turned her head to the side, and she and Leia kissed, Lemy's breath catching when he caught a flash of their tongues licking and whorling around one another. They ran their hands through each other's hair, their heads tilting left and right; a long ribbon of their mingled spit dripped down Leia's chin and Lemy bit his bottom lip.

_Get it hot_

_I've got the junction, you've got the spot_

_Get it hot_

_Gonna give you a little, gonna give you a lot_

_Get it hot_

Gwen bent over and kissed Lemy's lips, his chin, his jaw, her fingers kneading his scalp and her slick opening playing peekaboo with his head. Leia was behind, her hands gripping Gwen's hips and her core rubbing against her butt. Gwen's eyes met his, and in them he saw a swirling tempest of need. "Pretend I'm your little sister," she breathed, "and I'll pretend you're my big, strong brother...who loves me...and would do anything for me." She brushed the back of her hand across his forehead. "Can we do that, Freak?"

Lemy nodded eagerly.

"Hmmm...good."

With that, she settled onto him, taking his entire length greedily. The joining of their bodies was electric, and both moaned in pleasure so intense it might as well have been pain. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he put his arms around her hips; their bodies moved in urgent unison, her lips on his collarbone, his to the side of her head, the clean smell of her hair pushing him close to the edge. "You're the b-best big brother ever," she mewled.

"...best little...sister ever."

"I love you."

Her words penetrated the fog in his brain, and for the briefest of seconds, he didn't know if he should respond.

But the moment came upon him like a tidal wave and he did because he kind of had to.

"I love you too."

Suddenly, her motions ceased and her walls squeezed him in a joyous grip. A quake ran through her fevered frame and a series of lung ripping exhalations tore from her throat. Lemy's own climax welled up within him, spurred by her shaking/panting/weeping ecstasy. When it hit, he hugged her and thrusted up, sending a geyser of his seed directly into her deepest places. She gave a breathy, protracted "Ooooohhh," and ground her hips against his, her walls coaxing every drop from his balls like a dehydrated woman squeezing the last few beads of water from a bag. Lemy bucked once, twice, three times, his body subconsciously giving hers what it so desperately yearned for.

Afterwards, he lay on hi back, one arm around Gwen's shoulders and the other around Leia's; both girls rested their heads on his chest, both clung to him, their legs hooked over his.

Every man will tell you (or at least every Lemy Loud will you) that the clearest their mind ever is ...is following a hellacious nut. As he lay there cuddling them and staring at the ceiling, he had a revelation, and he turned his head to Leia. "You planned this, didn't you?"

Leia grinned smugly. "Of course I did."

He turned his eyes to Gwen, and her smile was sleepy, her lids heavy. "We planned it." She placed a wet kiss on his nipple and and snuggled closer.

Realizing that Leia planned their little ménage à trois wasn't the revelation, though. If he made it sound like it was, he apologizes. The real revelation was this: There were ulterior motives at play. Yes, he was very well aware that he was the Joe McCarthy of UM's - 57 names, one under every bed and hiding in every closest, but for some reason that he couldn't name, he felt it deep in his marrow.

After Gwen was gone, he would have to talk to Leia.

* * *

The brown-haired girl walked home with a happy spring in her step, a shopping bag clutched loosely in one hand and a hazy smile on her lips. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair was messy, and she stank like sex, but she felt more beautiful than she ever had before. As she walked, her thighs occasionally rubbed together, still wet and tacky from earlier, and each time they did, her smile widened just a little: It was a tangible reminder of him, proof positive that this was real and not a dream.

That it was real.

At times, she swung her bag back and forth and hummed a meaningless though merry tune, and at others she laughed to herself at something he said, or a cute expression he made, her boyfriend, her freak, hers...really and actually hers.

Sigh.

When she first saw him over the summer, she was instantly smitten. He was really cute, from his brown eyes and freckles to that sexy V pointing down to his...ummm thing. His appearance wasn't all of it, though; she could sense something in him, something...something that attracted her, let's just leave it at that. She recognized in him a kindred spirit, a missing half to complete her whole.

And that's a nice feeling, isn't it?

For a month she kept her mouth closed even though she really wanted to ask Leia about him. Sometimes she'd walk home with her just in the hopes that she'd catch a glimpse of him through the front window, or maybe even cross paths with him. Finally, she started to drop hints that she was interested in him - subtle ones. So...your brother...what's up with him? Hm, what's it like having so many siblings? Are you close? With your brother? What's his name again? I certainly don't remember from the first time you told me, and I never speak it aloud when I'm alone and shiver because it feels good on my lips.

As September turned into October and the leaves began to change, she went from smitten to plain old lovesick - that hollow rocking and reeling burning up with fever affliction that everyone feels at least once when they're young.

She didn't like it.

At all.

She felt bad enough without adding that to the top of the heap.

At the beginning of the month, lying awake and staring into the darkness, the sound of biting words drifting from downstairs, she decided to go after him. Oh, she was afraid of rejection like everyone else, but when you're in a burning building and you see a big, strong fireman, do you stop to think Hm, if I run up to him for help he might tell me no...I better stay here? No, of course you don't, and that's not what she was going to do. She wanted Lemy Loud...she needed him.

And she was going to pursue him.

The very next day, she brushed the subject with Leia. You're brother's kind of cute...is he single?

Yes, Leia said, but he's hung up on someone else so...you'd be wasting your time.

Oh.

Well...that didn't mean anything. She was hung up on someone else too...kind of...they could just be hung up together. She pestered Leia for two weeks about him and his hang up. Finally she snapped. It's our sister Lyra, okay? We all have sex with each other. Gross, huh? Now leave me alone.

Oh.

Well...that wasn't gross at fact, it was kind of...sweet. Sex is a pretty big deal, you know? You don't just have it with anyone. That's not to say she was a prude (oooh, she wasn't), but there's a difference between having sex and having sex with any Tom, Dick, or Harry off the street. Plus...she actually kind of had an incest thing going on too. Kind of.

After finding that out, she pumped Leia for information, and Leia gladly (and boastfully) gave it: She and Lemy did it a lot and...well...it sounded hot (so, so hot~), but it also sounded really, like, nice...having a big brother to hold you in his arms and love you, to make you cum and feel pretty...wanted.

For a while her lovesickness was accompanied by heart throbbing jealousy. Sigh...if only I had what Leia has. Finally, she wore her friend down. I'm telling you, honey, he's into Lyra. He'll fuck you but that's it.

That gave her momentary pause. She didn't want just fucking, she wanted more.

So…

...she'd just have to work at it. She'd show him she was better than Lyra. She could never be his sister, but she could be everything else - his friend, his confidant, his whore, whatever he wanted her to.

And it was working. Actually and honestly working. For real.

For real.

By now she was on her street, a wide, open avenue flanked by stately homes, some with towers and others with spires. Expensive cars sat in horseshoe driveways, a gray Aston Martin here, a black Bentley there, sitting next to a stone fountain and reflecting the light of the afternoon sun like polished glass. The warm, fuzzy feeling swaddling her began to dissipate, and her stride slowed. By the time she reached her house, her face had fallen into a flat state of neutrality, and her head, held high and proud just one block ago, dipped slightly as if against a frigid wind.

She did not look up at the stone facade or French windows as she dragged herself up the walk, did not stop to admire the vine covered lattice or the Mansard roof. She kept her gaze on her feet and held her breath in dread expectation; one never knows what they'll find behind a closed door, after all.

Today, she found nothing save for the same claustrophobic atmosphere she found every day. She scurried up to her room and shut the door. Good. She could deal with that. It was...other things she struggled with.

That was okay though, because now she had Lemy to focus on, and nothing else mattered. Only him. Her boyfriend.

Her real, honest-to-God boyfriend.


	3. Much A'Screw About Nothing

**Lyrics to Hats off to the Bull by Chevelle (2011)**

In the rush and whirr of having an abnormally large family, your plans sometimes get delayed. Lemy meant to talk to Leia as soon as Gwen left, but by then she and her mom were busy painting each other's toenails and shit, so he he had to wait. Alright, you only got ten toes and ten fingers if you're going that route too, how long can it take?

Pretty fucking long, he discovered.

First, he grabbed a shower; he was covered in the sexual excitement of two girls and himself, so, really, he should have thought to do this first anyway. Standing under the water, he let his mind wander. There was something about Gwen, something that kind of bothered him. She was...kind of clingy. Right? He thought back to her following him out the door - the hurt in her eyes, the desperation in her voice. I just want to spend time with you. Then, at the mall, she held his hand in a G.I. Joe kung-fu death grip and would not let go.

Alright, maybe I'm overthinking, okay? You know me, my mind goes to the darkest fucking conclusion by default. There's nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your 'boyfriend' and holding his hand. That's basic shit. Still...I just get kind of a feeling.

As for the threesome...they both seemed like they were genuinely into it, but, again, I think there was something more to it than 'hey, let's fuck Lemy.'

I know, I hear you. Lemy, brah, just sit back and enjoy it, damn. Sorry, that's not me, I worry shit, okay, and I wanna know where I stand and what's going down.

Done, he cut the flow, dried off, and pulled his jeans on. In his room, he threw an olive green vest with no sleeves over his bare chest and started to reach for a headband, but stopped himself. What kind of loser wears one of those just lounging around the house? Might as well go full Corey Hart and throw some shades on while I'm at it. Look like that dude from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2: Leatherface, you bitch! Look what you did to my Sonny Bono wig do... oh, goddamn I can't believe it!

Are Leia and Lola done yet? He put on his bandana (just in case he sweated, you know) and went to Leia's room. Mother and daughter sat on Leia's bed, Leia holding her hand out, palm down (hey, fag, where's your bike?) and Lola painting her nails. Of all his aunts, he thought Lola was the hottest: She had thick hips and thighs and this gap in her teeth that reminded him of Madonna. God, he'd fuck Madonna, and he'd fuck Lola too. Today she wore a sleeveless pink dress with white stripes, buttons, and a collar; it clung tightly to her ample body and barely covered her bodacious thighs. Her long blonde hair fell like honeysuckle around her shoulders and her head was cocked to one side, exposing her delicate throat.

Boooi-oooi-oooing.

Damn, dude, I just had a threesome and I'm up again. Is that normal? I know not having enough boners is a problem, but what about too many? Can I, like, lose blood from my heart or something? Overextend my dick tissue? Oh, God, will I wind up like Chuck Negron? Dick splitting like a hotdog in the microwave?

He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his eyes unfocused as he tried to keep his dick from going full retard (you never go full retard). Leia looked up, and one corner of her mouth turned up in a Mona Lisa smile. "Speak of the Devil."

Lola turned, and her eyes flicked from his feet to him head; her smile was identical to her daughter's. "Hi, Lemy."

Lemy suddenly felt very warm...and very nervous. "Uh, hey, I...was just seeing if you guys were d-done."

"Ummm, not yet," Lola drew. "Did you want to play with Leia?"

The suggestive hilt to her voice had the same effect on his heart that jumper cables have on a dead frog. You know...twitch! "Uh, no, just...just talk."

Lola hummed. She was focused on Leia's nails again. "It's okay if you do." She tossed a glance over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. "Maybe we can all play a game together."

Holy shit, dude, is she coming onto me?

His dick stirred like a man climbing his way out of rubble.

She smiled seductively.

She is!

"Yeah," he smiled, and looked her right in the eyes, "that sounds fun."

She lifted her brows. "Whenever you're ready."

"Maybe later."

"Hmmm. Maybe."

In the living room, he dropped onto the couch and scratched his head. Wow. So that just happened. Did Lisa release some kind of sex pheromone into the house again? Speak of the Devil. Leia must have been bragging about me. Oh, she says I'm awful, but I know her well enough now to know she's full of shit. Lola might have liked what she heard. That's fucking aw -

Lyra sank down next to him, and thoughts of what's-her-face and her lil daughter scattered like roaches when you turn the kitchen light on. "Hey, bro," she said and kicked her feet onto the coffee table.

*Cough-shake-hammer-blast-to-the-heart* "Hey, uh...how's it going?"

Lyra crossed her arms and nodded. "It's going good, man, it's going good." She looked at him with a taunting little smile. "What was all that moaning I heard coming out of your room earlier? Sounded like The Dawn of the Dead in there."

She heard.

Was she jealous? He wasn't trying to make her jealous this time, but if it was a side effect, man...alright! "Uh, just, you know, hanging out with Gwen and Leia."

The sultry brown hair vixxen-goddess sniggered. "Yeah, man, sounded like a good time. How you liking Gwen? She seems, uh...okay."

There was a hesitation...because Gwen was kind of dickish to Lyra yesterday. You know, the whole I know who you are thing. He thought it hurt Lyra's feelings, and he wasn't too happy with Gwen about it even though he was too nutless to say.

"She's fine," he said and nodded awkwardly. His hands were clasped between his knees and he looked down at them as though he were an OSHA inspector and they were a couple yahoo roofers with a history of fucking jobs up.

Humming, Lyra nodded too. "That's good, man, that's good. Looks like she really likes you."

Yeah, he thought so too. For what reason, he didn't know (his rockin' bod? His winning personality? His not-as-small-as-I-thought-it-was-apparently schlong?); he was kind of sure that there was something there, though. And this is the last he'd say on that aspect of the matter. "I guess."

A pregnant pause. "Do you like her?"

No, I like you. You know that, though.

He didn't say this; he considered his response carefully, his head ticking from side to side and his lips pursing. He liked doing her. And he didn't dislike her...still not much compatibility, though. That reminded him, the next time he saw her (hopefully not too soon) he'd have to ask her what she was into; he was working on the assumption that she was basically Leia, and that might not be entirely fair, even though he thought it was true.

The clingy stuff - and maybe he was taking it wrong - kind of put him off. Overall...she was alright. Kind of.

"She's okay."

Lyra watched him for a moment, then tilted her head as if to say eh. "You guys look cute together, man. Really cute."

I don't want to look cute with her, though; I wanna look cute with you, damn it.

Castles in the sky.

Or something.

That's what that phrase means, right?

Oh, who cares. I know me and Lyra are never going to happen the way I want us to; I know I need to move on and stop talking and thinking about it. It's a...a wound, you know? And it'll never heal if I keep picking at it and shit. I have to knock it off. Yep. Just...don't.

And the first step is to separate myself from the girl I'm pining over. "Hey, uh, I gotta go, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure," Lyra said and flashed a smile.

Lemy stood and fled upstairs, trying his hardest not to look like he was fleeing and failing, unbeknownst to him. In his room, he shut the door, crossed to the desk, and sat. Okay, I know it's hard, man, but you gotta keep your mind off Lyra. You're gonna drive yourself crazy. Remember how you were over the summer? Yeah, wasn't fun, was it? You wanna go back to that? You wanna be a moody little girl because wah-wah, things aren't going my way? No? Then relax. So what if she's perfect in every fucking way - plenty of fish in the sea.

Yeah...bland, gray, conformist tuna.

And Lyra was a sparkly rainbow fish.

But hey, there's more than one rainbow fish in the world, right? You gotta dig a little, but it'll be worth it when you find her. All the long, lonely nights, all the wasted effort day after day, false starts and one night stands that leave you feeling more hollow than before. Yep. All worth it.

Without even realizing it, he was reaching into the top drawer for his weed. Heh. Force of habit now, huh? At least it's not beer or something; if it was beer we'd really have a problem. Alcoholic Lemy inbound. He laid out a paper and sprinkled on a pinch of loud, making sure to spread the love; don't want any empty patches. He made that mistake when he first learned how to roll.

Next, he grabbed his lighter, plopped the joystick into his mouth, and sparked it. The smoke pinched the back of his throat and tickled his lungs, but he didn't cough; only punk ass, pussy ass bitches cough, and he was not a PAPAB no matter what people said.

Holding it between his teeth, he got up, went over to the dresser, and flipped through his CD book. Look at the shit I listen to, man; I'm the coolest motherfucker in the whole house. I'm joking but...doesn't Lyra look at me and see the same compatibility I see in her? Doesn't she think hey, that guy gets me like no one else?

Taking a disc out, he went back to the desk, sat, and slipped it into the radio.

I bet she does. I mean, she has to, right? If I do, why can't she?

He took a deep drag as the music started; he coughed like a PAPAB.

_All our needs put together_

_Don't bleed on their own_

_You paid for an eyeful_

_So behold the bull_

Random thought: People are funny. They act like they've never felt what you feel, and when it comes to certain things, it's only okay when they do it. Like, if you're heartbroken and dude rolls up on you, he's like Dude you're crying over a chick? What a bitch. You're not even a man anymore, you're a pussy. But when it's them, Brah, I'm justified cuz I'm really upset. Yeah, so was I and you stood over me with your hands on your hips like a fucking dickhead.

_Tell me what's there below_

_While he's safe for the moment_

_He's never safe from the crowd_

He took another drag, held, and blew.

It's hypocrisy is what it is. Pure and simple. He read somewhere that sociopaths - you know, the cats who can't feel emotions - think that everyone else is like them, that they're normal and everyone else is just faking. I don't think I'm a sociopath, but I wonder...you know, maybe they're right and most people are that way. They say oh, kids are cruel. So are adults. I mean, look at Nazi Germany. The cats tossing people into ovens and shit weren't fucking vampires or something, they were husbands and fathers and normal people until you got to, you know, 'the Jewish question.' And it didn't take very much for them to go from 'Hey, son, let's play catch' to "ein volk, ein reich, ein führer!"

But it never does, does it?

_To be monumental_

_Could mean the beyond_

_The simpler the treasure_

_Means the higher the cost_

He inhaled and blew. That beautiful warm and fuzzy sensation was starting to creep in.

All it takes is a little grunting and straining, and you can make people do the most awful shit. You know why? Because our civillity and our morals, man, they're a thin veneer masking the cavemen we really are. Remember The Monsters are Due on Maple Street? No, you don't, do you? It was The Twilight Zone and these suburban middle class 'respectable' types went apeshit and turned into a raving mob in the course of one afternoon because...I dunno, something happened. Had to do with aliens. Either way, that mask of humanity slipped right the fuck off.

_Well as for the ending, damn right I'm learning_

_You might ask for the door, end over end_

_Well I hate how the clouds hide_

An errant vision of Lyra flashed across his mind.

Why do I love her? I mean, I can go on and on about her hair and her eyes and shit, but that's all superficial, isn't it? Love is...love is deep...it's beyond physical shit. RIght? I mean...it's gotta play a part, though. Like...could I love Juicy if she was Lyra?

Ugh...I dunno. Juicy's funky looking.

Like Dad.

He snickered.

But really, what draws me to her?

I think it's mainly that she gets me. Everything else is extra, it's that...that understanding, you know? Like I feel totally at ease with her and I can just be myself.

That is love. You know? Pretty sure I heard people say that. Oh, I can be myself around so-and-so and blah blah blah. That's the advice, man, just be yourself, you know why? Because if you put up a false front, you're not gonna get what you need. You're gonna get what you want, and those aren't always the same, you know? You want X but you need Y.

_Find your challenge, suffer miles_

_Colors gray, he brings them out_

_Don't mind the challenge, suffer miles_

_A little shallow, if I don't say_

It's different in my case, though. I want X and need it. I need to be understood. Okay? I need someone to be on my level, at my height, someone I can totally be myself around and not be on guard or something. That's Lyra, man...that's Lyra.

Sighing, he took another puff and sucked in deep into his lungs. His ears were ringing now and his face was numb, tingly. He blew loose ash away from the cherry and twirled the joint absently in his fingers, looking into the ember like a gypsy fortune teller into a crystal ball. He didn't see Lyra in his future, and that was like a shiv to the guts.

_Hats off to the bull_

_His time ain't up_

_Bitter hell in the lion's den_

I'm not gonna find anyone like me. I'm not. I'm a fucking dinosaur and I hate it; I just wanna be normal, you know? Just a normal guy. I can't, though. I can put on skinny jeans and Buddy Holly glasses or whatever they wear now, but deep down I'm still me. Like...you can dress something up but if you don't reprogram it, man, what's the use? My clothes aren't the problem. Hell...I wear this stuff because I think it's cool, but I'll wear whatever, it doesn't matter. In this crap or a suit, I'm Lemy Loud the fucking holdover. And what's so pathetic is I'm not just a holdover...I'm a fucking poser holdover. At least some dudes can be...you know...hey, like, I'm acting like it's still 1969. It was groovy, man. They were there. I wasn't. I wasn't in '69, '89, or even '09. I'm just playing dress up.

Whatever. Most of us are.

_For some of us_

_Hats off to the bull_

_The sun won't set_

_Till the pain and the final breath_

But yeah...I'm not gonna find someone who's perfect. I'm gonna wind up settling, it's just a matter of, like, how much am I going to settle? A little...or a lot? I I find a chick kind of like Lyra, that's a little, but a girl like...I dunno...Gwen, man, that's a lot.

Why can't I just have Lyra, goddamn it? She doesn't feel the same...okay...but why? What am I doing wrong? What can I fucking do so that she does like me that way? Stand outside her window with a boombox like dude in that movie? Write her heartfelt poetry?

He stared blankly at the smoking tip of the joint for a moment...then put it out, got up, and opened the window; a cold breeze rolled in and he threw his glance around. Blazing trees all orange and red, leaves covering the ground, the smell of burning same. It's like an autumn wonderland out here. We'll make a Pumpkinman and pretend he's Parson Brown.

I gotta talk to Leia. Before I forget. Maybe talk to Lola too ;) She can be my beauty queen for the night. Here she cums, Miss Amerrrrrica. LOL. I'll do her what Kid Rock did to the sheriff's wife in Cowboy. She is sexy, though. Thicc body, gap, fucking cowlick. Man, the cowlick looks gay af on Dad but it looks hot on her.

No, no, no, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to Scooby-Doo.

He was in the hall now. Walking felt strange, like he was unsteady and going to fall. At Leia's door, he poked his head in, and glory be, she was alone, sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed at the knee and filing her nails; she was completely focused on the task at hand (LOfuckingL), her eyes down and her lips scrunched to one side in concentration. She started to hum, which told Lemy she noticed him but wanted to play like she didn't.

"I gotta talk to you," he said.

She looked up, her pigtails rustling, and lifted her brows. "About what?"

"About - About today." His tongue felt swollen and he could hardly hear himself over the ringing in his ears. He could hear her, though; strange. I guess I'm just that unimportant.

She flicked her eyes back to her hand and started filing again. "What about today?"

Before he spoke, he collected his thoughts. "I'm, like...you got an ulterior motive. Man, I can feel it."

She looked up again, her brow pinching. "What are you talking about?"

"You planned it."

"Yeah. I usually do plan when we have sex." She spoke with strained, patronizing patience.

Lemy stared at her for a moment, and she stared back, chin down, brow up, expectant, waiting. "It wasn't just sex, though, there was something else to it."

Leia blinked, which told him he was on he right track...and she didn't expect him to be find out. No one ever does; they all underestimate me. Oh, he's dull and drab and dumb. Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving, sis. "I just...thought it would be fun."

Now it was his turn to arch his brow.

Leia looked mildly uncomfortable...then threw the file onto the bed. "Fine. If you must know, I planned everything today. The mall, the sex, all of it." She crossed her arms sullenly. "Happy?"

No.

"Why?"

"So you'd hang out with Gwen," she said. "She wanted to spend time with you and I knew you were all hung up on Lyra, which is why I came up with the idea of us all going to the mall."

Lemy processed her words through his wooly, half-baked brain. "Lyra was bait."

Leia nodded. "Umhm."

Huh.

"I did it as a favor to Gwen. I kind of owed her one." She picked the file back up. "The sex was fun though."

Okay. So...she planned this mall thing specifically to get him to hang with Gwen. Okay. That wasn't nefarious or anything (God, with Leia you never know), but what about the sex?

He asked, and Leia shrugged. "She said it would be really hot if I let her watch us, and I figured it'd be kind of hot to be watched." She batted her eyelashes. "And it was."

Huh. I'm kind of hungry.

Wait.

Focus.

"What's up with her anyway? She's kind of...clingy."

Leia shrugged again. "I don't know. She really likes you." She said the last part as though it should be self-explanatory. Maybe it should be. He didn't know. He had the munchies and at least he knew that her motives weren't crazy or something. That's all he came for.

She could be lying though.

"I know you're stuck on Lyra," Leia said. She was filing her nails and looking at them. "But you need to get over it. She doesn't want you. Gwen does."

Lemy lifted his hand. He didn't feel like hearing this; he knew she didn't want him. "Alright, thanks for your time."

He started to leave, but Leia stopped him. "Uh...hold on."

"Yeah?"

"Well...I did hook you and Gwen up, so I think I deserve a reward. Don't you?"

And there it is. Leia does nothing for free. Except sex, but that's a reward in of itself, you know? "What?" he sighed.

Tapping her foot in midair, she tilted her head to one side and then the other. "Hmmm...I'll think of something."

Oh, lovely, now I have that hanging over my head. Hopefully with all the category five orgasms I've given her over the past two months she'll take it easy on me. None of that do my chores for a month shit. "Alright," he said.

Then he went off to find something to eat.

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

One tired eye, blurry with sleep, creaks open. The world is dark save for a wet smear, red against black. Whaaa?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A cruel, mocking sound like knives in her ears. She reached out, slapped the SNOOZE button, and snuggled into the girl holding her, one arm draped protectively over her waist and the other threaded under her side, her curled fingers grazing her left breast, which was covered only by a thin Number 2 jersey. Her nipple poked through the fabric, throbbing hotly and aching to be tugged and tweaked by small, nimble...sisterly fingers.

"We gotta get up," Liby mumbled tiredly. Her voice was muffled by Lacy's hair; the jock could feel her lover's hot breath on her scalp and she was in danger of getting turned on. Well...more so than she already was. See, guys wake up hard sometimes...and sometimes girls wake up wet. Right now, the inside of Lacy's lips was slick with arousal and if Liby kept puffing like she was, it would only get worse, and right now, they couldn't have sex. Liby's orders. Something about not expanding mental and physical energy before training.

Eh, made sense to her, not that she liked it; she loved morning sex...slow and leisurely with lots of touching and kissing, the last twilight vestiges of sleep still lingering in her head, lending it dreamy and surreal quality. Um. Yes, please.

"I know," she sighed.

It was Sunday, October 23rd, and Montoya's party was in ten short days; Liby wanted to cram as much training into that lull as she could. It was physically and emotionally exhausting, but well worth it, because this was serious shit. Every once in a while, it hit her just how serious: Shooting targets was fun and all, but in less than two weeks, she'd be shooting people...and they'd be shooting back. Any number of things could go wrong, and she could very well die.

Or worse, Liby could die.

That scared the shit out of her.

Presently,, a cold, silmy something slithered through the pit of her stomach, and she shoved dark thoughts from her mind. She turned the alarm off, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up with a stretch and a yawn. Liby's fingers grazed her back, and she looked over her shoulder: The older girl was smiling at her. "Can I have a kiss?"

Lacy giggled. "Of course you can." She bent over, twined her fingers through Liby's, and kissed her deeply; Liby's hand stoked up and down Lacy's arm, leaving goosebumps in its laid her hand on her sister's breast and squeezed it through the fabric of her nightgown. Liby gasped and pulled away

"Alright, any more of that and you're going to make me horny."

Lacy hummed "Maybe that's what I'm trying to do."

"And maybe it's not going to work," Liby replied. Her eyes danced with a wicked light and her lips twitched into a predator's smile. "After we train, we're doing it...but not a moment sooner." She held her finger up in punctuation.

"A girl can try, can't she?" Lacy asked with a sheepish grin.

Liby sat up and kissed the tip of her nose. "It was a good effort, but if you really wanted to make me horny, you'd be wearing the HK across your shoulder."

Damn. Why didn't I think of that?

Liby got out of bed while Lacy kicked herself in the butt, went into the bathroom, and used the toilet. Her mind was muddled and her lids heavy; usually she woke quickly, like a cat, but it was really hard doing that when you're snug under the covers with your amazing doll of a girlfriend. If she could, she'd stay in bed with Lacy day and night. Screw everything else. Obviously she would have to get up to eat and stuff, but that goes without saying.

When she was finished, she wiped, flushed, and jumped into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand in an effort to burn away the fog in her mind. Usually, she took 'navy showers' - that's where you use thirty seconds to get wet, cut the water, lather, then rinse off in under a minute - but today she bathed at her leisure. It was Sunday, after all, and she had to celebrate some way.

As the spray pounded down on her, she let her mind go to the upcoming offensive against Montoya - she'd taken to calling it Operation Righteous Wind but was thinking of changing it because the 'wind' part put her in mind of flatulence. She didn't let on, even to herself if she could help it, but she was nervous...not because it was a big operation (which it totally was, by the way), but because Lacy was going to be there...in harm's way.

If she could, she would sneak out away and leave Lacy behind, but she needed her; she couldn't do this by herself...no matter how much she wanted to.

Even so, she was worried sick that something would happen to Lacy. If it did, she didn't know what she would do, and she really didn't want to think about it.

As she did with all things that scared, bothered, upset, or offended her, she roundhouse kicked those thoughts into a dark corner where she couldn't see them. No use in worrying. Worrying makes you sloppy, and now was not the time to be sloppy: Her family depended on her (whether they knew it or not)...Lacy depended on her.

Fifteen minutes later, she and Lacy were both dressed and in the kitchen, Lacy in tight fitting yoga pants and a purple tank top and Liby in form fitting bicycle shorts and a sports bra: The idea was for their movements to be as unrestricted as possible. "It's gonna be cold out there," Liby warned as she stared out the back door: The sky was staggered tiers of purple and orange, and mist clung to the ground as if to a block of dry ice.

Lacy came over munching a sports bar, and handed one to Liby. "I know," she said. She didn't mind the cold; during football season she got up early every morning for a little pre-school jog, even if it was bitter out. "You should wear something a little...more," she said and waved her hands in front of Liby's chest: One ached to touch, the other ached to be touched.

Focus, girls, you gotta get this done.

Right.

"I'm not worried about me," Liby said archly, "you, on the other hand…"

Lacy's brow crinkled.

"You're going down," the older girl clarified.

A competitive light crept into Lacy's eyes. "Am I?" she asked.

Liby nodded. "Yes. You are." She poked Lacy's chest, loving the fire and determination on her face that only being threatened and mocked could bring out. "Then when you're laid out on the ground, I'm going to make you eat my ass."

Both girls broke out in hysterical giggles, their cheeks blazing with color. Neither minded...things going in their butt, but both agreed that eating ass was gross, disgusting, and unhygienic. "It's funny because you think I'm joking," Liby said and patted her sister's shoulder as though she were a cute kid, "but I'm not. If you go down, you're dining on booty."

"Too bad I'm not going down."

"We'll see about that," Liby said and opened the door; a needling gust of wind swept into the kitchen, and with it a single brown leaf that tumbled end over end across the floor. Liby went out and Lacy followed, her arms raking with gooseflesh. A few stray stars still twinkled in the west, where soft purple gave way to dark blue. They walked to the middle of the backyard and stopped fifteen feet apart facing each other.

During their weeks of training, Liby had shown Lacy a little H2H (hand-to-hand) but nothing advanced. She was a quick study, as many of the sports she played were physical in nature. Today, however, she was planning on introducing her sister to hardcore combatives.

First, as with all training, comes the verbal stuff. "You ready?"

Lacy, arms folded and hip cocked, nodded. "Yep."

"Alright," Liby said and shifted from one foot to the other, "The three basic options upon encountering a resistant opponent are:

Option One, disengage to regain projectile weapon range

Option Two, gain a controlling position and utilize a secondary weapon

Option Three, close the distance and gain control to finish the fight."

Lacy nodded as though she understood.

"Today, I'm gonna show you how to disable a combative head-on." She took up a wide stance and put her hands up in loose fists. "Come on."

Lacy stared at her for a moment. "I'm gonna get my ass kicked, aren't I?"

"Yes," Liby said plainly, "you are."

The younger girl considered for a moment, looking for weak points in her sister's position. Her knees, of course, and her solar plexus. The thing was getting there...Liby was a fighting expert and could lay her flat with a single pinky.

"I'm waiting...Loud," Liby said, a tiny smirk running across her lips.

Taking a deep breath, Lacy came forward at a run. Her plan was to spear Liby's legs, knock her down, then gain the dominant position. That didn't happen. In fact, Lacy didn't know what happened: One moment Liby was in front of her, the next she wasn't. Pain exploded in the side of Lacy's head and she lost her footing. Liby was suddenly on her back, her forearm threaded around her neck in a sleeperhold to end all sleeper holds, her free hand fisted in her back and limiting her movement. She thrashed and choked, and Liby let her go. "Come on, sis," the older girl said and got to her feet, "you can do better than that."

Lacy, on her hands and knees now, caught her breath; her face burned with shame and she felt two inches tall. She wanted to impress Liby, she wanted Liby to be proud of her...and that's what drove her to her feet...what fueled the fire within. She turned to her sister, threw up her hands, and assumed the orthodox boxing stance - left foot farther in front of the right foot. Liby grinned and did the same. "Alright," the older girl said, "make your move."

Lacy ducked and weaved...then danced forward. Liby jumped aside and lashed out, slapping the top of Lacy's head. Lacy threw a punch, but Liby slid away like an ice cube across a tile floor. Lacy turned just in time for another slap, this one to the face.

Now she was starting to get angry...not at Liby but at herself: When you're thirteen, the absolute worst thing in the world is looking dumb/weak/stupid/etc in front of your girl...especially when your girl needed you to be strong and not a failure like you were at football. Growling, Lacy bowed her head and threw herself at her sister, crashing into her and knocking her to the ground. Immediately, Liby shot her forearm up and across Lacy's throat, pushed her back, and jabbed her thumb into Lacy's chest. "I'm stabbing you," Liby said and did it again. "Now your guts are hanging out."

Lacy tried to land a punch, but Liby easily rolled her off and leapt to her feet. Lacy got up and faced her; the younger girl's eyes were hard and her face was red. "Throw a punch," Liby said. Lacy did, and Liby karate chopped her arm away as though it were nothing more than an annoying bug. "I'm going to come at you now," she said. "I want you to do the palm-heel chin strike I showed you last time. Remember that?"

"I remember."

Liby lunged forward, and Lacy shot out her right hand, the heel hitting the tip of Liby's chin and rocking her head back. It hurt like a son of a bitch. What hurt more was the sharp and sudden shin kick Lacy tossed in on her own accord. Liby stumbled back, and Lacy came after, launching a fist at her forehead. Liby ducked and threw out her elbow; it connected with the side of Lacy's face and knocked her off balance. Liby followed up with a heel strike of her own, this one to the temple.

Grunting, Lacy collapsed to the ground in a heap. In a split second, Liby decided to keep going - Montoya's guards wouldn't stop because oh no, she fell down and neither would she. She straddled the girl and grabbed her arm, which she folded across her throat. Lacy's face turned red and her eyes shone with rage. "Roll me off."

Lacy flailed her free arm and tried to hit her in the face, but couldn't reach. "That's not going to work," Liby said, "roll me off."

Sneering, Lacy summoned all of her strength and rolled to her left. She simultaneously reached out and lucked into snatching a handful of Liby's hair; suddenly she was on the bottom, and Lacy's forearm was across her throat. "Good," Liby strangled, "you're learning."

I won't go into detail about the rest of their training session, but suffice it to say that Lacy got her ass handed to her more often than not, but she was improving, and Liby was immensely proud of her.

* * *

Sunday morning started early for Lemy Loud...6:57 to be exact. He was snoozing, like dudes do, when something jumped on his chest and started him awake.

"Hi, Lemy!" Lizy piped, her eyes and smile both wider than Mama Juicy's ass. She fisted the blanket in her hands and leaned in.

His first thought was Huhhhh, whaaa? Then the fog cleared from his brain and his second was Oh, hell no. He was a lot of things, but a child molester wasn't among them (limit one per household), especially not...Lizy. Jesus, his little sister? The one he played dinosaurs and shit with? Man, he couldn't bring himself to do that even if someone had a gun to his head.

Anyway, Lizy's nose was touching his and she was grinning. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply.

Her eyes blinked, and he saw uncertainty in them, which made him feel bad. "I need your help," she said.

"With what?"

"My remote control T-rex," she said, "it's not working."

Oh. He laughed nervously. Of course it...it was that. Why'd your mind go straight to the gutter? You got some kind of fetish deep down you wanna talk about? Go ahead, you're among friends. We won't judge you.

Uh...no. I'd rather cut my dick off with a rusty butter knife.

Lizy favored him with a confused head-tilt. "I thought you wanted something else," he explained.

"To do grown up stuff?"

Lemy blinked. Oh, wow, I didn't expect her to know what I meant.

"Maybe when I'm older," she said.

Gag.

"Go get your T-rex," he said, and she leapt off with a happy bounce, the pitter-patter of her running feet trailing away. He swung his legs out from under the covers, sat up, and raked his hand through his hair. What time was it, anyway? He glanced at the clock, and that's when he saw it: 6:5fucking7. Son of a shit, what was Lizy doing up this early? Didn't she like sleeping in? I mean, kindergarten can be a bitch. When he was her age, you needed a crowbar and six burly bikers to get him out of bed before nine on a Sunday.

She has drive, you don't.

Oh, good morning to you too, self-loathing. I thought I sent you packing.

Nope, brah, still here.

Okay. Just keep it to a low rumble, huh? My head hurts, my eyes ache, and my little sis needs me to fix her toy.

Kay.

Momentarily, Lizy returned with the T-rex in her hand. "He won't stomp around like he's supposed to," she said glumly and sat next to Lemy. He reached out, and she gave it to him. She loved this damn thing. Other little girls slept with teddy bears or Barbie dolls, she slept with a voracious, man-eating monster. He guessed it was kind of cute if you tilted your head, squinted, and ignored the rows of razor sharp fangs crowding its mouth. "Did you check the batteries?" he asked and looked at her.

"Yep," she said with a curt nod, "I used the screwdriver just like you showed me."

"Remote?"

She dug in her pocket, her tongue plastering to her upper lip, then got it and handed it over. He checked the back, and yep, there was evidence of a Lizy: The little screw wasn't all the way in. He moved to the desk, sat the remote and the T-rex on, and grabbed a mini Phillips head screwdriver from the top drawer. Lizy laid her hands on her knees and craned her neck to see; she liked watching him work, and sometimes she'd sit in his lap and he'd do his best to explain what was going on. It wasn't easy being a teacher. It takes a special kind, you know? He still enjoyed it; she was pretty good at mechanical stuff for a six-year-old. Of course, her mother was Lana Loud, and she was basically Ty Pennington with a vag. Hands on stuff was in her blood.

He unscrewed the battery compartment and checked inside to make sure they were in right. "These are fresh?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yep," she replied.

Alright. First, he'd open the remote itself and see if he could find a problem. If not, he'd have to open the dino itself.

He operated quickly, his fingers deft and sure. Like his older sister, he entered The Zone when he worked, a trancelike state in which nothing existed but him and the object in front of him. He didn't realize that Lizy was standing next to him with her hands clasped behind her back until he was done and the plastic casing of the remote was in one piece again. "It's not this," he said and and pushed it aside. He grabbed the T-rex, looked for the point of ingress, and found it. He reached for his screwdriver, but Lizy was already holding it out. "Thanks," he said and took it. "You're a good helper."

Lizy beamed.

He was afraid that the problem would be hard to find or impossible to fix, but for once in his sad, sorry, miserable life (I'm exaggerating, shit, it's early and my head hurts), things went smooth: It was just a loose wire. He tightened it, picked up the remote, and pushed a button. The T-rex stomped across the desk with a prerecorded roar. "You fixed it!" Lizy cried joyously. She snatched the toy up and hugged it to her chest, twisting back and forth like a little girl reunited with a long lost friend. He grinned. Alright, headache or nah, this was worth getting up early for.

"Thank you, Lemy!" She pushed up on her tippy toes and pecked his forehead.

"You're welcome," he said, then pointed his finger at her, "be careful from now on, huh? No more letting this guy tumble down the stairs."

"But he likes falling down the stairs."

He cocked his brow, and Lizy buckled. "And...I kind of like it too."

"If you keep doing it, you're gonna break him and I might not be able to fix him."

Lizy's brow furrowed. "But you can fix anything."

He didn't have the heart to contradict her (your big brother's really a loser and a joke), so he simply agreed. "Alright, point taken."

She smiled and bounded off to play, and Lemy watched her go with a wistful smile. She was a really cool kid. If he had one of his own one day, he hoped it was like her.

Adult stuff? Maybe when I'm older.

He frowned. Could he...in the future…maybe? He'd learned to never say never, but, man, that thought made him sick. Like...if he was, you know, with her, it wouldn't matter how physically attractive she was, he'd always see her as she was now: Cute, pure, missing tooth...a baby. How the fuck does Dad do it? He-He f- it left him speechless when he really sat down and thought about it: One minute Dad's holding, say, Lupa as an infant, and the next he's putting his dick in her.

You know, he had his problems with his old man, but he didn't hate him and he didn't think he was evil. On the other hand...dude's fucking sick. Yeah, okay, the girls are the ones who pursued him, still...he couldn't get it. If his daughter came to him one day wearing a little nightie or something, strap all slipping down her shoulder and Daddy, can you put out the fire in my belly with your hose he'd shit himself...then ground her or something. Who the hell do you think I am, your grandfather?

A terrible idea struck him then.

What if he had a daughter...and Dad did something with her?

Guess I'm beating my old man to a pulp.

That was a worry for another day, though. Right now he had to piss.

Being so early, there was no line, which was boss. He whipped it out, aimed, and unleashed a torrent of yellow furry into the bowl. Hm...yeah, still better than sex.

Back in his room, he dropped onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples; it was almost seven-thirty and the others were starting to stir, the sound of soft moaning drifting down the hall telling him that Dad was up and doing something gross already. Sounded like Lucy, which, okay, that's fine. Lucy's hot.

Speaking of hot aunts, Lola, huh? She seemed interested, which was fucking righteous, man. Don't mention this to the guys down at the Krusty Krab, but Lola was his first crush, and when he was ten he blew his inaugural load while thinking of her boobs. Bedding her would be a (wet) dream come true.

He stretched out on the bed and yawned,. He could see her now: On top, head thrown back, big old tiddies bouncing as she rode him. Oh, Lemy, you're so much better than your father; he can never make me cum but you've me cum twenty times already. Yes! Yes! Yes! You know, it's every man's dream to do twins...maybe Lana could join in and they could have a dirty, sloppy threesome. Those are fun: He knew that from personal experience.

A smile touched his lips and he closed his eyes. Yeah...that was...a….lot of…

"Bro!"

Lemy started, his eyes flying open. Lyra leaned in, her arms braced against the door frame. She was wearing tight jeans and a little shirt that exposed her creamy, fleshy, fucking perfect stomach. W-Was this a dream?

"You getting up? It's 9:30."

Huh. Guess I fell asleep. "Yeah," he slurred, "I'm up." He drew himself to a sitting position and rubbed his temple. Dude, my headache's gone. Sweet. What's mine say? Duuuuuude. What's mine say? Sweeeeet. That was a dumbass movie. The parody one was better. What was it? What's mine say? Ray. What's mine say? Fucked me. Ray! Fucked me! Ray! Fucked me! Ray fucked me! It's funny because dude got drunk, passed out, and his friend raped him.

Actually, that's not funny at all.

Getting up, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then put on his cap. Hey, Silent Bob will eat your ass.

Oh shit! Speaking of eating...it's omelette time, bitches!

I know I've said that before, but this time I mean it. I'm getting that goddamn omelette if it kills me. I mean it, I am prepared to literally die for this fuking egg dish. No more delays, no more rain checks, no more cancellations, no more nah, boi, you gettin' a steak. The time for games has passed.

Determined, he put his shoes and socks on, then went downstairs. Go straight for the door, don't stop, don't talk, don't give them a chance to detain you, don't…

His hand was on the knob when a familiar voice spoke from the couch.

"Hey, Freak."


	4. Hard on the Knees

**This is probably my favorite chapter of the whole story. **

**Lyrics to Chip Away The Stone by Aerosmith (1978)**

"Hey, Freak."

Lemy's shoulders tensed. That voice...smooth, sexy, like honey dripping from naughty lips. It sounded like...it sounded like…

...like he was going to be cucked out of his omelette yet again.

Oh, hell, no. He glanced over his shoulder, and Gwen was leaning against the arm of the couch, a sly smile on her face. She wore her typical shirt and sweater combo, her brown hair framing her face and her eyes bright with an excitement that sent a pang rippling through his heart. She was excited...to see him.

Wow. Me?

Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same about her. No offense, hon, but you picked a bad time to drop in.

Leave the bitch.

"Where you going?"

Aw, man, I can't do that, she's practically my girl. But I really want this omelette.

She spent mad money on you yesterday, bro, and you're gonna be a selfish little bitch and leave her? Dude...not cool.

Yeah, but I di -

Doesn't matter if you wanted that shit or not. Stop being a prick.

Sigh. The angel on his shoulder was right. Plus, wasn't he going to give her a shot? Didn't he think that last night after he burned? He couldn't remember. Man, I gotta stop smoking that shit. I'm pathetic enough without being a fucking burnout hippie.

Alright. Fine. I'll just bring her along. I have enough money for two.

"IHOP," he said, "you wanna come with?"

Her face lit up. "Hmmm...what's at IHOP?"

"The omelette I've been wanting forever...then I forgot I wanted it then I remembered that I forgot and now I really want it again."

She giggled either at what a loser he was or at how fast and desperately the words tumbled out. He couldn't really tell. "How about I make you an omelette?"

Lemy's brow furrowed. Uh...okay, again, no offense, but I don't really like the idea of eating something made by an eleven-year-old girl. You ever see that show Kid's Kitchen or whatever the fuck it's called? It's one of those Food Network reality deals where kids make shit and get judged, ya know, the usual. Every time he watched it he cringed when the judges ate something these little shits made. Like...God, they're kids, man, they probably didn't wash their hands and they probably put boogers in the food and ugh. "Uh...no, that's fine, we can just go out. Like a…" here he stammered, "...a date."

"Really, it's no trouble, I like cooking," she said and got up. That's when he noticed Leia for the first time; she was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed. She glanced at him, and he lifted a questioning brow. Another set up?

She shrugged and spread her hands. I didn't invite her.

Gwen came over and touched his face. "What do you want in it?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but there was a shadow of something in her eyes...pleading, he thought.

Please let me do this for you.

Sigh. Fine.

"Green peppers," he said, "and, uh, onions and stuff."

"Okay," she said, "cheese?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll have it done in ten minutes tops," she said and kissed his cheek, her lips wet and lingering. Her hands went to his chest and her fingers dug into his flesh like she was a woman hanging onto a ledge and trying frantically to keep from falling. Lemy swallowed thickly and she pulled away. "It'll be the best omelette ever. I promise." She flashed a tight lipped smile, then turned and went into the kitchen via the dining room.

When she was gone, Lemy looked at Leia, who was watching TV with her arms crossed. Alright, did you guys see that? Wasn't that a little...you know…?

Nothing, I'm reading too much into it. She offered to make me an omelette and kissed me. What's weird about that?

Still, man, I have a feeling like...something's not entirely right here. Whatever.

He went over to the couch and sat next to Leia; the cushion was still warm from Gwen. "I didn't bring her over," Leia said without looking away from the screen, "she just showed up."

Lemy nodded; he believed her. Again, nothing out of the ordinary about going to your boyfriend's house. If he and Lyra were together, he'd be up her ass 24/7...figuratively and literally.

Man, now he felt like shit. Yeah, Gwen liked him, he knew that, but to what degree? If she felt for him what he felt for Lyra...that's sad because he loved Lyra with every fiber of his being and she didn't love him back, the same way he didn't love Gwen. Say what you want about him, but he was an empathetic dude, and the thought that he was doing the same to her that Lyra was doing to him made him sick. Only, hey, what he was doing was worse. Lyra wasn't stringing him along the way he was with Gwen.

Man, I can't do this. I gotta tell her. It'll hurt her and...yeah, it'll hurt me too, but it's for the best. I mean...she's a nice girl from what I can tell, and doesn't deserve to be with some guy who's all hung up on his sister and shit...who can't feel for her what she feels for him. You know?

She's gonna take it hard, though, I can already tell, and...I don't know if I can do that to her. Part of me wants to really try, but I know it's useless. It'll be...pretend or something. I mean...imagine this...you're with someone for years, you laugh with them, you make love to them, you have children with them, you face life and all of life's trials, triumphs, and tribulations with them, you grow old together, you love them so much it hurts...and the whole time they don't love you. Forty, fifty years of them holding you and wishing you were someone else, of seeing your face and thinking of the proverbial one who got away, of tolerating you, of staring into the distance and wishing they were somewhere else. I dunno if I articulated myself well enough to make you feel what I feel, but, damn, isn't that sad? I imagine myself in that position...of loving someone who doesn't love me, and I know how much it would hurt. I don't wanna do that to Gwen.

Yeah. I gotta tell her.

His heart stumbled sickly in his chest and her stomach did kind of a flipping/rolling/panging thing. He crossed his arms and glanced toward the kitchen. The sounds and smells of cooking drifted forth.

Maybe I don't. Maybe I can make myself love her. Or maybe...I mean goddamn, I'm thirteen. I keep forgetting that. Whatever we may or may not have isn't going to last forever. Yeah, some people marry their high school sweethearts, but you know how rare that is? People grow and change as they get older, their circumstances evolve (or devolve). People almost never stay with the the guy or girl they're dating at eleven, so...what's the harm?

He sighed and started to restlessly shake his leg. Just...relax, go with the flow, enjoy your time together while pining for Lyra. Easy. In fact -

"Morning, son."

Lemy glanced over his shoulder as Dad passed behind the couch. He wore red briefs that hugged his sizeable bulge and nothing else. Leia twisted around and grinned seductively. "Ummm, morning, Daddy."

"Morning, princess," he said and winked at her.

Yuck.

He went into the kitchen and Lemy settled back. On TV, a man -

"NO! THAT'S FOR LEMY!"

Lemy and Leia both jumped. Dad hurried out of the kitchen, throwing nervous glances over each one of his shoulders; his arms and legs pumped like he was on a morning jog. He paused behind the couch and laid his hand on the back, his gaze going to the kitchen as though he expected Gwen to rush out with a chainsaw. "I don't know where you got her, son," he said and looked at Lemy, "but you need to take her back."

Oh? You don't like her? Maybe I will keep her around, then.

No, he wouldn't do that. I'm thinking on it, Pops, okay?

"Daddy?" Leia asked. She was kneeling on the cushion, her hands on the back and her upturned face pointed at Dad. "Can we play?"

"In a little while," Dad said and held his hand up. "I'd like to eat first...but I'm not going back in there until it's safe." He spared the dining room one more look, then went up the stairs. "I'll be in the shower."

Leia sighed, turned, and sat, her brow pinched sullenly and her lips in a pout. "He'll play with Lucy but not me," she grumbled.

Lemy started to say something, but Gwen poked her head out. "It's ready, Freak."

He took a deep whiff of the air, and, he couldn't lie, it smelled good. He got up and went into the dining room just as Gwen sat a plate at the head of the table. She smiled, stood back, and clasped her hands behind her back. Rocking back and forth on her heels, she said, "I made it special."

Okay, that gave him pause. "How?" he asked suspiciously.

"I put extra love in it," she said and pecked his cheek.

A blush spread across his face. Oh. Wow. That's sweet and makes me feel kind of good...but kind of shitty too because…

Nevermind. I'm not gonna dwell on this shit anymore. I'm just...going to eat my breakfast. It looks good. Light and fluffy with green, red, and white...kinda like the Mexican flag...which is basically the same as the Italian flag, right?

"Go on," Gwen said, a note of anticipation in her voice.

Lemy obliged, sitting and scooting the chair in. She handed him a fork and kissed his cheek again, her fingers raking through his hair. "I hope you like it," she said, then sat at his left, her elbows propping on the table and her chin resting in her palms. Her eyes shimmered and her lips were turned up in a genuine smile.

So do I, he thought. He cut a piece off, stabbed it with the tines, and lifted it to his mouth. A flicker of uncertainty ran across Gwen's face as he started to chew. "Is it good?" she asked.

No. It was not good.

It was fucking awesome! Melty cheese, crisp veggies, soft egg coating like a goddamn cloud. He swallowed and shivered in delight. "Hell yeah it's good," he said, and carved another piece off.

Gwen beamed brightly, a little girl satisfied that she'd done something to earn praise.

"Where'd you learn to make omelettes?" he asked around a mouthful, his manners completely forgotten; hard to remember things like chew with your mouth closed when you're basically creaming your pants.

"Myself," she said.

"Really?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She nodded. "Umhm. Like...trial and error. It took a long time but I got t."

"Same with me and mechanical stuff," he said absently as he hacked off another hunk and forked it into his mouth. "I taught myself most of it." He swallowed. "I mean, I read books and stuff, but no one really sat down and showed me what to do."

Gwen nodded. "Me too. I wasted a lot of food learning to cook." She giggled. "It made me feel kind of bad because, you know, starving people and stuff."

Lemy snorted. "My Dad told me once...he said There are starving people in China and you're throwing your dinner out. I said What, are you going to bring it to them?"

Gwen giggled and bowed her head. "Yeah, your Dad...he's a weirdo."

"Umhm," Lemy said and sliced off more egg. Man, this shit was like crack. Did she put some kind of drug in it? Was he gonna pass out and wind up like that dude in Misery, tied to a bed with a block of wood between his feet? I'm your number one girlfriend. *Whack* If so...just keep feeding me shit like this and we're good.

A mischievous light danced in her eyes. "What's up with that little thing on his head?"

"His cowlick?" Lemy asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

Lemy shrugged. "I dunno. Looks gay, huh?"

"It waves at me every time he walks by." She flapped her hand. "Heeeey."

Lemy burst out laughing, his head bowing and his shoulders shaking. Oh, shit, did she really just go there? "I say the same shit," he hitched, and Gwen giggled.

"He looks kind of like a rabbit," she said. "And white hair? Isn't he supposed to be young?"

Lemy shoved another piece of omelette into his mouth. He could feel the drugs taking effect - in a few minutes he'd be trapped in Gwen's bed with two broken feet and a distended stomach full of omelettes.

Not really.

"It was always white," Lemy said. "Some kinda pigment thing or something. I dunno."

"What about his teeth?"

Lemy shrugged. "I dunno. He probably got his ass whipped."

Gwen laughed...then shifted closer, laying one hand on his leg. "It's really good?" she asked seriously.

"Yeah," he said and swallowed, "it's giving me a boner." He immediately regretted his choice of words and blushed. Gwen laughed deeply, then harder at his expression; tears streamed down her face and her hand waved back at forth.

I should probably be a little more discriminating in my use of English, he thought; he was grinning, though.

"I'm glad," she said, and her fingers trailed up his leg, getting close to his crotch, "because I'm horny."

A piece of egg went down the wrong tube and he choked. Gwen's eyes widened and she sat up as he coughed. It was lodged deep and no air was getting in. Making a fist, he slammed himself in the chest, and it dislodged.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah," he said with a nervous smile, "you just...caught me off guard. That's all."

"Oh...sorry."

Lemy waved his hand. "You're fine. We can...we can take care of that after. If you want."

Her smile widened. "Okay! Then maybe after that we can go for a walk or something."

"Sure. Sounds good."

When he said we can do that after, he didn't mean right here at the table, but ten minutes later, his dick was jutting out of his zipper hole and Gwen was lifting her skirt and lowering herself onto him, her wet tunnel of love [cliche af, bruh] squeezing him painfully. They shared a gasp, and Gwen splayed her hands on the edge of the table. "God, I love that," she sighed and began to move up and down his rod, her juices coating him and greasing the way. He took her hips in his hands and rested his forehead against her back. He took a deep breath, and her smell filled his brain - warm, clean, fragrant; a hazy smile touched his lips and he wrapped his arms around her stomach.

Gwen tossed her hair and bit her bottom lip as her ass came flush with his groin. "You feel so good," she panted.

"So do you," he said honestly. The way her muscles stroked him and her walls slid wetly along his shaft, the way her stomach trembled under his touch...his heart raced and his breathing came in violent bursts. She turned her head and he leaned forward; their lips didn't meet, but their tongues lashed one another with a slick sound. He moved his hands over her breasts and her heart throbbed beneath his palm. She moved up, then back down, up, then down. It was too much; he could feel himself rocketing toward his climax.

She pulled back and favored him with big, earnest eyes. "I-I'm close."

"Me too."

"Look in my eyes."

That begging note in her voice...that needy hilt...he was powerless to do anything but stare deeply into her slitted, liquid brown eyes as he filled her; her body tensed and she held his gaze. A tremble sigh ripped from his throat and his entire body crackled as if with electricity. He hugged her close to his chest and pumped his hips, willingly giving her every bit his balls had to offer.

When it was over, she fell limp against him, her head lying in the crook of his neck, her flushed cheek tacky against his. "That was nice," she said and giggled.

"Yeah," Lemy said, "it was."

I still have to dump you, though. For your own good.

She turned and brushed her lips against his jaw. "You ready for our walk?"

No, actually, I'm ready to have a serious talk with you about us...and why we can't work. Only I'm not ready.

"Yeah," he said, feeling like shit for bitching out.

"Great," she chirped, "just let me get cleaned up and we can go." She pecked his forehead and got to her feet wince. "I'm leaking. Sorry."

Lemy tilted to one side and yep, he could see it dripping down her leg. His dick, falling flat, gave a weak, half-hearted jerk, flinging a glob of cum onto the table; some guys like seeing their nut on a woman's tits or face, but Lemy liked seeing it on their legs. Weird, I know.

"I'll be right back," she said and pressed her skirt to her crotch. She hurried out at a half-waddle, and Lemy watched her go with an amused grin. When she was gone, he sat back in the chair and sighed. The sex is fucking :okay hand: but...as great as it may be, he couldn't keep doing it with her. This wasn't something casual, you know? She felt for him, which meant they couldn't be friends with benefits or anything. It was like him and Lyra; he didn't even want to have sex with her anymore because his feelings were involved and being with here, you know, was...almost like a tease or something. It'd be the same way with Gwen, only it'd be her feelings.

Man, I feel so fucking stuck right now I don't know what to do. I'm trying my best here, but my best isn't good enough and every move I make is going to wind up hurting her. You know how they say you choose the lesser of two evils? Well...that's what I gotta do. What's the lesser of two evils here: Leading her on or being blunt and hurting her?

He didn't know. It felt like the latter, but maybe it was the former. Maybe you, oh great sage, have all the answers, but Lemy Loud, thirteen for barely forty-eight hours, did not. He was new at this sort of thing.

He did know, however, that his dick was still hanging out, resting limply against his leg like a marathon runner after a grueling charity 5K. He tucked it back into his pants, and that's when he noticed the sticky white mess in his pubes, a mingled mixture of his and Gwen's fluids. Call him strange, but on the one hand he liked walking around with a girl's cum on his log, but on the other...man, it got itchy fucking fast. And smelled. There was a napkin holder in the middle of the table, and he reached out, grabbed a few, and did his best to wipe himself up. It wasn't great, but he'd survive.

Getting up, he spotted the wad on the table, grabbed another napkin, and tried to clean it off, but it smeared wetly across the wood. This is Dad's spot, isn't it? Think of it as a belated Father's Day present.

In the living room, he dropped onto the couch next to Lizy, who was watching some gay ass cartoon about a boy rabbit with, like, thirty rabbit sisters. Pfft. Hoooooomooooo. She whipped her head around and shot him a stern look. "You're not supposed to do grown up stuff at the dinner table."

Oh, shit, she saw? He wasn't worried about getting in trouble, but, uh, his six-year-old sister walking in on him and a girl...that's kind of disturbing. She didn't need to see that shit. "Uh, yeah, sorry, I...apologize."

She looked him up and down...then broke out smiling. "That's okay. I won't tell."

Lemy chuckled. "Thanks. You're a great sister, you know that?" He patted the top of her head and she preened.

"You're an awesome brother."

Awww. I'm glad someone thinks I'm awesome. Someone other than Gwen, that is; and after I talk to her, she's not going to think I'm awesome at all.

Sigh.

Speaking of Gwen, she was coming down the stairs now. Lemy twisted around and frowned. Yeah...she's a cool girl, I gotta be straight with her. She deserves it.

At the foot of the stairs, she paused and looked at him. "Ready?"

Nope.

"Yep."

He patted Lizy's head again and got to his feet. Alright, dude, it's not gonna be easy but you gotta do this. He met Gwen at the door and she opened it; cold air washed over them and a leaf smacked him in the face. Goddamn it, every time!

Gwen laughed and peeled it off for him. "That look's so last season," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he replied and followed her onto the porch. She held out her hand, and he reluctantly took it.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked as they descended the steps; leaves drifted across the walkway and crunched underfoot like the husks of dead cicadas. Oh, Lemy hated those nasty ass motherfuckers. You ever see one? They ugly af, dog.

"Where ever," he said. Gwen led him to the right, and they followed the sidewalk along the street. A guy in a gay ass Cosby sweater stood at the edge of his yard, his hands on his hips and a burning pile of leaves before him; thin white smoke curled into the air. Gwen took a deep breath and let out a refreshed sigh.

"I love that smell," she said.

Lemy took a whiff. "Yeah," he said, "it's alright."

"I really like fall. Like...all the dorky decorations and stuff." She laughed and squeezed his hand. "Don't tell anyone. I say that stuff's lame but I actually think it's nice."

"Like...scarecrows?"

She nodded. "Yeah, and pumpkins and things like that. I have a reputation to protect, so shhh." She held her index finger to her lips.

Hm. "What kind of reputation" he asked.

They were crossing a side street now; trees blazing with autumnal colors lined either side, forming an enchanted tunne or some shit. Kids rode bikes, jumped rope, and played hopscotch.

"Well," she said, "I'm kind of a bitch."

Lemy glanced at her. "Really?"

She nodded guiltily. "Yeah. Kind of."

"I hadn't noticed."

She looked up at him and smiled. "That's because I like you."

He flashed a tight grimace and looked away. Yeah. That. Instead of manning up and saying something about them like he should have, he said, "You been going kind of hard on my Dad." He snickered genuinely. "It's pretty funny."

"I know," she said, "that's why I do it."

Lemy glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

They were at the intersection of Franklin and Wilson now: A rush of gas stations, cheap motels, and fast food joints pushed up against the sidewalks. Cars sped back and forth, a city bus pulled to a stop at a covered shelter where a crowd of people waited, and an ambulance blasted by with its sirens on.

Gwen shrugged. "Leia said you and your dad don't really get along."

Ah. Should have known. He made the mistake of venting to Leia about Dad one day after they had sex (most of the time she got right up and left, but sometimes she liked being cuddled). The British had a saying during WWII: Loose lips sink ships. Leia's lips were looser than a nine hundred pound brothel whore thirty years into a fuck-me career.

"It's not really that," he said now. The pedwalk sign across the street flashed red. "I just...I dunno, he doesn't really have a lot of time for me, you know?"

Gwen nodded. "Yeah," she said, understanding in her voice.

"And he gets on my nerves. You know how dads can be."

Here Gwen looked away. "Y-Yeah, I guess."

The light changed and traffic came to a halt. They crossed quickly, passing a old man with a cane on the way. On the other side, Gwen looked at him. "So, what's it like having so many sisters? It's gotta be...interesting."

Lemy snorted. "Yeah, it is."

"And all your aunts and stuff. How many people live in your house?"

"Twenty."

Gwen's jaw dropped, and he couldn't help but laugh; hers was the same expression he always got. "Twenty people? Wow, your house is big but not that big. Where does everyone sleep?"

"Well, my aunt Lana turned the attic into more rooms," he said, "so...there's that. My Dad has the master bedroom."

Gwen nodded...then furrowed her brow. "How does it work? Like...relationship wise?"

"My Dad and aunts?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Uh...they take turns."

Gwen stared at him for a moment...then laughed. "Wow. That's crazy. No offense."

"No, no," Lemy said honestly, "it is fucking crazy. It's...it's way out there."

Neither of them spoke for a while as they made their way across the parking lot of a Meijer's: Lemy watched a retarded guy in an orange vest push a line of carts toward the front, clpping people's bumpers as he went. And when he said retarded he meant literally mentally retarded. Or whatever the politically correct term is these days; it changes so fucking much. Like...years ago this TV host got in trouble for saying 'colored people.' No, no, the correct term is 'people of color.' Uh, wat? It's...literally the same thing except the order of words and, like, two letters. I-I don't get it.

"So," Gwen asked haltingly once they were back on the sidewalk, "who's your favorite sister? Besides L-Lyra?"

Lyra. Right. That reminds me, we need to have a chat. "Lizy," he said, "she's really cool."

"Which one's that?"

"The five-year-old. Red hat?"

"Ah," Gwen nodded, "have you guys...you know?"

Lemy's face crinkled. "No, God!"

"Sorry," Gwen said quickly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I don't care if you do, just so you know. I really don't mind."

Lemy started to speak, but a shout from across the street cut him off.

"Hey, fuck face!"

He froze mid step.

Oh, shit.

"What?" Gwen asked worriedly.

He turned just in time to see Juicy waddling across the street, the way she moved putting him in mind of a freight train or something, you know, rocking from side-to-side as it chugged down the track. She wore a purple sweat suit, the hem of a white T poking out from under her shirt. Dark sweat stains spread from under her armpits and the stench of her body found Lemy's nose, making it twitch. When you're really fat, he guessed, you got water trapped under your rolls and it made you smell moldy. And when you're lazy and gross, you don't wash your pussy and...ugh, I can't even.

She reached the sidewalk, and when she saw Gwen, her face pinched. "Who the fuck is this?" she asked him, her beady little eyes like burning coals in the sweaty folds of her face. The hair on her upper lip trembled in indignation and her three chins quivered in anger.

"This, uh...this is Gwen."

"Bitch, what the fuck is doin with his hand?" Juicy asked, her head rolling.

Gwen's eyes narrowed. "Holding it," she said tightly.

"Well, you need to stop, that's my man."

Gwen let go of his hand, and for a split second, he thought she was rolling over like a scalded dog..then he saw her face, flushed red, her eyes, filled with fire, and her fists...uh...all fisty. "Excuse me?"

"Umhm," Juicy said, "you heard me twig lookin, stank lookin white bitch. That is my man and you need to take yo home wreckin ass up outta here."

Lemy swallowed. This was not looking good.

"The fact that he had his dick in me twenty minutes ago determines that to be a lie," Gwen said. A man passing by twisted his neck around and gaped. Lemy held up his hand to cover his face; don't mind me, just...being embarrassed.

Juicy's pudgy face turned crimson. "Oh, you gonna get it now, bitch." She rolled up her sleeves.

Yeah, this was bad. Juicy would mop the floor with Gwen, and, you know, Lemy didn't really wanna see that happen. He started to move in front of Gwen, but she brushed past him. "Bring it on, fatty."

Growling, Juicy came forward, fat jiggling, and Gwen struck like grease lightning, her fist crashing into one or more of Juicy's chins like a rock. The gargantuan's head whipped to one side in a squirt of blood and broken teeth. Lemy winced, his fist flying to his mouth.

Juicy's head rocked back, and Gwen hit her again. Juicy's knees gave out and she went down hard, the entire world shaking like it was about to explode. Gwen glared down at her, fists still clenched.

Juicy moaned. "Why you hit me?" Her voice was a broken mutter. "Why you hit Mama Juicy like that?"

Lemy gaped. Gwen turned, their eyes met, and she smiled widely. D-Did that really just happen? Man, talk about fucking random! Outta nowhere she hits like George Foreman? "H-H-W-Where did you learn to do that?" he asked.

Gwen shrugged. "Nowhere." She took his hand and squeezed it. "You just don't get in the way of a girl and the man she loves"

Oh. Love. Heh.

"Come on," Gwen said, and cast a hate filled glance at Juicy, "I have an idea."

You act like a prima donna

Playing so hard to get

Sittin' so cool and nonchalant

Draggin' on a cigarette

They moved lazily down the sidewalk, their fingers entwined and Lemy's thoughts drifting. You gotta do it, man; she's actually a cool girl and you can't fuck her over like this. He thought back to Juicy. She might kick your ass though.

He stole a sidelong glance at her, and she turned her head, a sly smile pinching her lips. "What?"

Lemy shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, it's something," she said playfully and nudged his ribs with her elbow.

Maybe I shouldn't do this. I can...I can make this work. I just don't wanna hurt her, man. I mean, what if she falls deeply in love me with and wants to marry me and stuff, and I do nothing to stop it? I know I'm only thirteen, but you gotta take this stuff into consideration.

"You think I'm hot, don't you?" she asked.

Lemy shrugged. "Well...yeah, you are."

"And I'm a good cook," she pointed out.

"That too," he nodded.

"And I clean, do laundry, don't take up very much space, and...hmmmm...I know how to do taxes."

Lemy blinked. Uh...are you pitching yourself? Hi, Billy Mays here...but wait, there's more! And indeed there was.

"Plus I'm good in bed."

His cheeks blazed and she giggled.

_You keep a wall all around you_

_I'll get through some day_

_I want your love, baby_

_Push, don't shove_

_Gonna chip that stone away_

They were at the park. Gwen sat in one of the swings, her hands clutching the chains and her feet dragging in the mulch; Lemy stood behind, his hands shoved into the pockets of his army coat. "Come on, Freak," she said over her shoulder, "push me." She drew back, and Lemy splayed his hands on her shoulders. She kicked her feet out from under herself and he gave a light shove.

"Come on!" she giggled. "I'm not made of glass."

Well, excuse the fuck outta me for not launching you into space. "You say that now, but wait 'til you bust your ass."

She swung back, her head down and her legs out; her hair fluttered in the breeze like lace. "I won't bust my ass," she said in an eye-roll-yeah-sure-mom tone. "Plus, If I can handle your...thing...I can handle falling on my butt."

Lemy blinked. Uh...okay. He got behind her and pushed her on the backswing. She soared into the air and giggled madly. "Higher!" He pushed her again, harder this time; the chains creaked and the frame shook. "Higher!"

"Uh, I dunno," Lemy said uncertainly, "this thing looks like it's gonna come down."

Gwen was pumping her legs, cleaving through the air back and forth like a pendulum. She leaned back as far as she could, her eyes dancing with a mocking light. "Bwok, bwok, bwok."

A shocked laugh rose in Lemy's throat. "Yeah?"

She nodded. Forth, back. "Umhm." Forth, back. Brow furrowed, eyes narrowed tauntingly. "Chicken."

Of all the mean names he'd had tossed his way over the years, Lemy didn't think chicken was one of them. Pussy, yeah, bitch, sure, fuckass fuckboi most definately. "I'm not a chicken," he explained patiently, "I'm just not trying to have you die."

"If you're not a chicken, prove it," she said, "swing with me."

He rolled his eyes...but sat in the swing next to her anyway. "Come on, Freak!" Gwen cried. "Don't be a bwok, bwok, bwok chicken." She giggled.

Lemy laughed. Alright, fine; his honor and manhood and shit were on the line, so he was gonna show this girl what was up. He gripped either one of the chains, pushed himself back, and shot forward. The frame was really shaking now, but he ignored it. Heh. Kind of.

"I bet I can go higher than you," Gwen said. They were on the same track. Up, down, up, down.

"Pfft. Bullshit."

"I can," she said, "so there."

"Alright, let's see."

Up, down, up, down.

"Fine, let's."

He went higher, for the record.

_Chip away_

_Chip away at the stone_

_I won't stop until your love is my very own_

_Chip away_

_That's what I'm gonna do_

In a normal town where a guy can ride a pink bike without getting gay bashed every step of the way, ice cream parlors closed in, like, September or something (who wants frozen cow juice when it's cold as fuck outside?). Not in Royal Woods. Carl's Ice Cream on the corner of Main and Pine stayed open year round, and right now Gwen and Lemy stood in front of the walk-up window while a bored looking teenager with apocalyptic acne made their cones - strawberry for her, chocolate for him.

"I'm telling you," Lemy said, and crossed his arms, "there was no way in hell that thing was a cat."

"I'm telling you it was," Gwen said defiantly, her brows lifted and her lips pursed cutely.

On the walk from the park, as they talked and held hands, something black and furry darted out in front of them and streaked across Park Road. "Aw, kitty," Gwen said, and Lemy blew a raspberry. "That's not a cat. It's a dog." They'd been going back and forth about it ever since.

Pimplehead handed their cones through the window, and Lemy took them, handing Gwen hers. A gust of wind blew a few errant strands of hair across her face, and she tucked them behind her ear. "Thank you." She twirled it in her hand and licked it. "Want some?"

"Sure," Lemy said.

She dabbed her finger in, then tapped his nose; cold, pink confection smeared across his flesh. He winced and she giggled. "There you go," she said and licked her cone again. "Enjoy."

Oh? Well, two can play that game. He dug two fingers into his ice cream and got them nice and dirty. Her eyes widened. "Oh, you better not."

"Come here," he said and took a step forward.

"No!" she laughed and jumped back. "I only did a little bit!"

Chocolate dripped from his fingers. He held them up. "Come on, don't make this harder than it has to be."

He took another step and she broke and ran with a squeal. "Lemy! Stop!" she laughed over her shoulder.

_Even a rock will crumble_

_If you strike it night and day_

_If hammer I must, I'm gonna get through your crust_

_Gonna chip that stone away_

Flip, seventy-three last summer and looking too thin to be healthy, glared at Lemy over the counter. The middle of his head was bald and covered with liver spots, and his faded blue eyes flashed with anger.

"You keep raising your prices, man," Lemy said, "this is bullshit."

Two Flipeez and two bags of cookies sat on the counter between them. There's no way in hell that shit should cost ten bucks.

Flip gestured. "If you don't like it, Loud, you can take your inbred ass out the door."

Lemy's face darkened. "Fuck you."

Flip leaned over the counter. "I'd take that as a threat," he snarled, "but I'm not related to you."

"Neither am I," Gwen piped up, "and he fucks me."

A hot blush burst across Lemy's face, and Flip blew a raspberry, his thick white mustache shaking like a branch in the wind. "You're gonna catch something."

"Yeah," Gwen said and turned to Lemy, her eyes flicking up and down, "feelings."

Lemy blinked and Flip rolled his eyes.

_Chip away_

_Chip away at the stone_

_I won't stop until your love is my very own_

Lemy rummaged through a display of medals, dog tags, patches, and pins with a thoughtful expression on his face. He kind of wanted to buy this Silver Cross, but thinking about it...why was it even here? Like, did some broke vet down on his luck sell it just so he could eat? Man, if so, he didn't want it, because that was fucked up.

They were currently in the Army + Navy Surplus store on Main. The owner, a one armed guy named Phil Cassidey, stood behind the counter and watched Lemy with one eye...the other was hidden by a black eyepatch; he said he lost it in Operation Iraqi Freedom way back in the day, but Lemy had to wonder if he didn't forget to take the little umbrella out of a mai tai or something.

"See anything you like?" Phil called.

Lemy picked the Silver Star up and looked at it. "Yeah," he replied, "this. Hey...how do you wind up with these, anyway?"

Phil shrugged. "Usually when the recipient dies."

Oh. Lemy put it back. "Nevermind."

He moved onto a display of hats.

"Look at me," Gwen said, and Lemy glanced up. She was wearing a helmet and a long green coat, the hem of which pooled on the floor around her. "I'm a soldier." She put her hands on her hips and cocked her leg, a wide smile crossing her lips.

Lemy's gaze went from her bare legs to her eyes; he was grinning stupidly by the time they got there. "That coat's a little big."

She looked down at herself as though she had no clue. "You're right. There's room for two." She held it open like a giant bat, and with a snicker, Lemy went over. He put his hands on her hips and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You wanna play army with me?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, "I'll invade your demilitarized zone with my Panzer division."

Hungry light flashed in her eyes. "I hope they can make it through the mud, because Gwenastan is very wet."

They both laughed so hard they cried, their foreheads pressed together and their noses brushing. Their eyes met, and Lemy felt a jolt in his heart. The urge to kiss her came upon him, and he was helpless to stop himself from leaning forward and touching his lips to hers. She smiled against him, then their tongues met and danced slowly.

_Chip away_

_That's what I'm gonna do_

_Sweet little mama_

_I wanna get next to you_

The arcade was dark, dank, and smelled funny...like a cave...where teenagers met and had sex, then pissed themselves and threw up. The soft electric glow emanating from the screen broke across Gwen's features, and Lemy watched her, his elbow propped on the edge of the game cabinet and his chin in his palm. On the screen, her spaceship exploded and she winced. "Ugh. Dead again."

"You're not doing it right," he teased and skimmed his fingers across her hair.

"Oh?" she asked and raised a single brow.

"Yup," he said, "you're embarrassing yourself."

She laughed. "Okay, Mr. Expert. Show me how, then."

Lemy shrugged, pushed away from the cabinet, and got behind her. She smirked over her shoulder and snuggled against him, his butt rubbing his crotch. He ran his fingers along her bare arms and rested his palms on top of hers. The scent of her hair filled his nose and muddled his brain like an aphrodisiac. He squeezed her hands and kissed the side of her throat, then her delicate jawline, then her cheek. She hummed and bent slightly, her butt grazing him and sending pangs of desire through his body.

She felt good in his arms.

She tasted good against his lips.

"You're turning me on," she giggled.

"You're turning me on too," he said, his words shaky, "very much."

She turned her head and grinned. "Let's go."

_I won't stop_

_I won't stop_

_I won't stop_

Lemy mounted her and held her hand as he pushed past her quivering lips. In the spill of dim evening sunlight falling through his window, her face was hazy, her eyes narrowed and her mouth closed. Her hair pooled around her hair, and her breathing was beginning to quicken. A wave of tender affection that he'd only ever felt for one other person came over him, and he peppered her face with soft kisses as they bodies moved together, slowly, leisurely stepping their way through a dance as old as time. Gwen wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him closer, as if to entirely consume him. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, then, finally, her lips. She panted now, and when he stroked the back of his hand across her cheek, she purred and shuddered in delight.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

And this time...God help him...he meant it.


	5. In the Land of Make-Believe

**Lyrics to Too Hot by Krokus (2010)**

6:00 Monday morning, muted gray light falls through a wide casement window and creeps across pink carpet, scattering dark shadows into corners where they fester like cancer. Cold October rain sluices down the pane like tears, and wind moans in eaves like the voice of the dead.

The brown haired girl wakes to the sound of the alarm like she does every morning, and like every morning, it startles her so badly that her little heart blasts painfully against her ribcage. When she realizes there is no danger, she begins to calm. In dreams, she was dragged kicking and screaming from her bed and taken away; it had never happened in real life, though...not yet.

She reaches out, hits the OFF button, and sits up, her bangs brushing across her forehead. She gets up, takes her clothes from the closet, and goes into the bathroom, where she brushes her teeth and then her hair. The eyes staring back at her from the mirror are dark, anxious. When she leaves the house, she slips on a mask to hide them, but now, they're raw, exposed, like a quivering nerve. She can't look into them for very long, can't look at her face; she doesn't like what she sees.

Done, she peels off the nightgown, puts it into the dirty clothes hamper, and dresses in her skirt, shirt, and sweater. A muffled thump sounds in the next room, and she freezes, her heart rocketing into her throat. Is she making too much noise? She was being as quiet as possible, she really was. And if she was making too much noise, she didn't mean too.

No one yelled or banged on the door - they rarely did, to be honest - and she finished, then scurried back to her room. She grabbed her backpack, made sure she had everything, and left, closing the door behind her. A wide staircase, ornate woodwork and iron railings, brings her to the living room, which is pooled with shadows. She sets her backpack by the couch and starts into the kitchen, but stops, goes back, and sets it on the couch instead. She doesn't want to get yelled at for it being in the way. Like all of her things.

Like her.

In the kitchen, she takes a pan from the drying rack and a carton of eggs from the fridge. She sets them both on the stove, goes to the pantry, and grabs a loaf of bread, making extra sure that it's sourdough and not white. She wanted him to be pleased, and if she gave him the wrong bread he would most certainly not be.

She greases the pan with butter - not too much - and cracks two eggs, taking great pains to make sure that no shell got in. While they cooked, she put the bread into the toaster and starts a pot of coffee. Having so many things going at once overwhelms her, but she kept her focus and moved quickly. As she flips the eggs, her mind returns to the dream she had the night before, the one where she was trying so hard to be good and make him happy, but he was still mad at her - why, she didn't know; she couldn't remember the circumstances, but she could remember the anxious tightness in her chest - it was something she felt every day in waking life.

The coffee is done, and so are the eggs. She carefully transfers them to a plate, then pours a measure of brew into a white mug. She's buttering the toast when he comes in, the heels of his wingtip shoes clicking on the tile floor. Her heartbeat speeds up and her bowels quiver. The atmosphere, always dim and queasy, darkens, and as he crosses to the table and sits, she can feel the disdain radiating off of him in sickly waves. She cuts the toast and checks to make sure that it looks nice, the edges clean and not ragged.

It does.

As nice as she can get it, at least.

For a moment she stands at the counter, a mixture of dread and hope roiling inside of her, hope because maybe if she was good enough he would accept her as his daughter, and dread because deep, deep down, she knew he never would. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, he didn't love her...he didn't even like her. She was a fool for trying, she knew that, but there was always a chance, wasn't there? Always the faint possibility that this would be the day his heart thawed and he finally stopped hating her.

Shaking her head like a woman coming awake from a trance, she sets the toast on the plate, picks it up, and grabs the coffee. She turns, and like every morning, he sits at the head of the table, a short, pudgy man with a bald pate, graying black hair, and glasses. He wears an expensive tailored suit and a glower, his eyes pointed straight ahead and his hands fisted on the table. His briefcase sits next to him, as constant and faithful as a loyal dog. He doesn't turn as she comes over on apprehensive feet. His profile is sharp, unpleasant; it's clear that if he ever does accept her, it won't be today.

Tears threaten to well in her eyes, but she blinks them back. She just had to try harder, that's all, and one day, he would be her father and she could be his daughter.

She sets the plate and coffee in front of him. "Here, Daddy."

The words were barely out before she realized her mistake. Her heart clutched and her hand went to her mouth. Her stepfather's head slowly turned, his eyes narrow and his lips puckered as if in disgust. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, panic rising within her, "it slipped."

He glares at her for a moment, then turns away and starts to eat.

Stupid. She knew he didn't like it when she called him that but she let it happen anyway. Now he was mad at her again. If you want his love and approval, you're not doing a very good job of getting it.

She knew.

She knew all too well.

Blinking back a rush of tears, she goes off to clean the skillet. Neither one speaks; the silence between them is black, dense, pushing against her chest like hateful hands. By the time she is finished, so is he; he gets up, grabs his briefcase, and walks out with nary a word. She pauses and listens for the door.

It slams.

That means he's still mad.

She takes a deep breath and bows her head.

Maybe tomorrow.

She gets his plate and mug, washes them, and puts them in the drying rack with the skillet. By this point she's running late, but she doesn't care. In the living room, she grabs her backpack, slips it on, and leaves, grabbing her umbrella from its spot by the coat rack. On the step, she opens it, holds it over her head, and shuts and locks the door. The rain makes a tap-tap-tap sound, water on canvas. She hated walking in the rain, but she knew better than to ask her mother for a ride; she'd still be drunk from last night.

Bowing her head, she hurries down the drive and along the sidewalk, moving as quickly as possible in the irrational hope that she'd get to school before her shoes and socks got wet.

Too late.

As she walks, she goes back over the encounter with her stepfather again, as she always does, and looks for a point where she could have done something different, something better. Obviously today she called him Daddy, but some mornings she screwed up in other ways, more subtle ways that took her hours and hours to pinpoint: Coughing near him, using too much butter in the eggs, letting her longing gaze linger on him and creeping him out. At least she thought they were the reasons he was upset with her. Maybe they weren't. She didn't know, but it had to be something, didn't it?

Why did she always mess up? Why couldn't she be good enough? Why didn't they love her?

That last thought sent goosebumps racing down the back of her neck. It sounded needy and melodramatic.

And stupid.

She quckens her step; her socks squelch and she winces. Hopefully she would have time to go to the bathroom before class and dry them with the hand blower. Hot shame crept across her cheeks as she pictured someone walking in on her doing it; she'd rather just wear wet socks and suffer.

Why didn't she keep an extra pair in her locker? Every time this happened she thought to, but she always forgot.

She was stupid.

Just like her mother said.

She'd remember this time. She didn't want to be stupid.

By now, she was crossing the street. Royal Woods Academy loomed over her like a tomb, its brick facade grimy with years and its windows like dead but seeing eyes. Cars idle at the curb as kids kiss their mothers goodbye and get out. She keeps her eyes averted because if she doesn't, she might feel jealous, and feeling jealous depresses her.

Inside, she goes to her locker and opens it. Crowds of kids dressed in uniforms fill the hallway, and after she gets her books, she looks around for Leia or Marsha. She spots the latter down the corridor, leaning next to the water fountain and talking to Susan Norton. Marsha is a tall black girl with glasses; she is very deep and analytical, and every time she is around her, she feels even stupider.

She closes her locker and goes over, her steps light and unsure. Sometimes, she didn't like approaching her friends because she's afraid of being a nuisance, like they only tolerate her out of pity or something, and when they see her coming they secretly roll their eyes. Ew, here comes Gwen. Put on your biggest, fakest smile and pretend. There were times she would walk right past them in the hall without even looking at them. They said it's almost like you think you're better than us.

No. Not really.

I just don't want to bother you.

It wasn't always like that, though. Sometimes she was so desperate for a smile or a friendly word that she didn't care if she pestered them, didn't care if they were only pretending to like her...because sometimes pretending is all you have.

As she walks, she dons her mask.

Marsha looks up and Susan turns her head. Gwen searches their eyes for traces of detestation, but sees none; she never does, but that's no consolation. "Hey, Gwen," Marsha says.

"Hey," Gwen replies easily and rests one shoulder against the wall.

"I didn't see you this weekend," she says as Susan rushes off; she says she has somewhere to be but Gwen thinks she just doesn't want to be around her.

"Yeah," Gwen says, "I was with my boyfriend."

She smiles at the mental picture of Lemy Loud that flashes through her mind, but the words feel empty, hollow.

Marsha lifts her brow. "Boyfriend?"

Gwen nods. "Yep. Boyfriend."

"Who?" she asked. "And when?"

"Leia's brother Lemy," Gwen says. His name feels good on her lips, but it makes her want to cry and never stop. "We kind of got together on Friday."

Kind of.

Marsha purses her lips thoughtfully. "Hm. He's cute." Her cheeks blush and her eyes sparkle. Gwen hopes she envies her, because as long as they'd been friends, Gwen had envied her.

"Really sweet too," she says. She remembers the last time they were 'together,' the way he touched her with soft, fleeing hands and kissed her gently. Her heart begins to ache...with both love and longing.

Sometimes pretend is all you have.

"Have you guys...you know?" Marsha asks, a suggestive hilt in her voice.

Gwen sucks her lips in to hide her big, goofy grin. Marsha grins. "You have. How was it?"

"Amazing," Gwen answers honestly. It was sweet and passionate and honest and real. You can fake a lot of things, but there are some things you can't.

Marsha started to speak, but Leia came up and cut her off. "You left something at my house," she said and holds something out. Gwen turns, and her face blushes when she realizes it's a pair of her underwear.

"Ooo-la-la," Masha laughs as Gwen snatches them away and shoves them into the pocket of her skirt before anyone can see. "Gwen says she and Lemy are a thing now."

"Umhm," Leia says, and looks at Gwen. "You're welcome."

"Thank you," Gwen replies. Thank you for making me happy.

Kind of.

Before class, Gwen goes to the bathroom. In the far stall, she takes out her phone and texts Lemy. "Have a good day, Freak," followed by a heart. She doesn't expect a response, and when she gets one less than a minute later, her heart bounces. She takes the phone back out and reads it. You too *heart*

She smiles wanly at the screen.

Sometimes pretend is all you have...but sometimes it isn't enough.

Returning the phone to her pocket, she takes her books from the counter and goes to class, where she struggles to focus. Sitting with her chin in her palm, she stares out the rain streaked window; her stomach twists and turns and her heart feels like it's being jabbed with a million little needles. Painful thoughts circle her consciousness like a school of sharks waiting to move in, and she does her best to fight them back.

He loved her. What they had was real. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, in the way he held her close after sex. The last time was special...she could feel it. He put his arms around her and kissed her shoulder with such tender affection she almost cried.

He doesn't love you. He loves Lyra.

Her heart clinched and a ripple of pain went through her midsection. That wasn't true. A-And if it was, she would just work harder.

Be better.

The rest of the day passed at an agonizing crawl. She kept the dark thoughts at bay, for the most part, and when the final bell rang, she gathered her books and went outside. The rain had stopped, but the pavement was still wet, and by the time she was two blocks from home, her socks were damp again. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she took it out. Another text from Lemy. She flashed a tight smile. See? If he didn't love her he wouldn't be texting her so much. Are you coming over?

And if he didn't like her, he wouldn't ask that, now would he?

No, she replied, I can't. Tomorrow I will.

A few seconds later: Oh. *Frownie face* Okay.

I'm sorry.

It's okay. I just wanna see you.

That made her smile.

At home, she went inside and started up the steps, freezing when she heard movement in the kitchen. Her stepfather's car wasn't in the driveway, which meant he was still at work.

It had to be mother.

Gwen waited to see if her mother would call out to her (you did something wrong!), but she didn't', and Gwen hurried to her room. Mother was the resident phantom: Rarely heard and seldom seen. And when you did see her, it wasn't a happy experience.

Shutting the door, Gwen dropped onto the edge of the bed and kicked her shoes off, then peeled the wet socks from her feet. They ached dully and stank. She should take a shower: If she waited too long, her stepfather might yell at her; he went to bed early, and didn't like her making noise.

She didn't want to go out there, though. She wanted to stay here, in her only sanctum. Elsewhere in the house she was unwelcome...unloved.

Putting that aside, she gets up and goes into the bathroom, where she strips and climbs into the shower. The water is hot against her cold skin, and as she lets it warm her, she thinks of Lemy, of his cute smile and his big brown eyes, of the way he blushed like a little boy when she said something dirty. When she first saw him over the summer, she recognized something in his eyes: Sadness. He looked so sad that she wanted to put her arms around him and hug him tight. I'm sad too. She dreamed many nights of holding his hand, snuggling him close, holding him and giving him soft kisses until the hurt was gone, she yearned for it so badly that it made her sick. And maybe...maybe he could do the same for her.

My Dad doesn't have much time for me.

I do. I'll give you every waking moment; I'll give you everything I have if only you'll have me.

Well...that was a lie. She could have gone over to his house after school - her mother didn't care when she came home, if at all - but she couldn't. She couldn't take seeing him look at Lyra the way he did Saturday at the mall. Heh. She was on thin ice and she wanted to keep the illusion alive.

Done, she gets out and towels off. In her room again, she dresses in clean clothes and picks her phone up off the nightstand. Lemy texted. What are you up to?

Nothing, she replies, just thinking about you. *wink*

She waits impatiently for his response; she wanted to see what he would say to that. He got kind of weird sometimes -

Because he doesn't love you.

\- and it worried her.

I'm thinking of you too.

Maybe he does love me.

And maybe he doesn't.

I don't know, she thinks and put her face in her hands, I'm so confused. I want him to love me so bad, but I'll pretend if I have to. Sometimes pretend is all you have.

Suddenly drained, she curls up on top of the covers and wraps her arms around her knees. It's really not so bad, because when they had sex, she could forget; in that moment she was everything to him, all he wanted, all he craved. During the act, she felt loved, she felt wanted, and she felt beautiful. It was heady...addictive...everything she ever dreamed it could be.

If that was the only way he could love her, so be it.

That might hurt some people's pride, but not hers.

Because even though she made believe, she had no pride.

* * *

Monday afternoon, Lemy strode along the sidewalk,his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his military jacket - there were patches on the shoulders now. 101st Airborne. Get it? Because when he got high he was...nevermind. Music filtered through one earbud (the other hung limp across his chest), but he didn't hear it. He snickered to himself and looked up into the gray sky: Barren trees lined the way, their branches shaking and knocking together in the damp wind like woodland skeletons or some shit. That's a morbid image, huh? Yeah, strange, because he didn't feel morbid. At least he didn't think he did. He felt...good...but also kind of confused. And kind of bad, too, like...there were steely fingers digging around in his chest and the only thing that could get them to go away was seeing Gwen.

One life, one love

Gettin' ready to ride

New name, new place

And the feelin' is right

I know what you're thinking. Lemy, dude, you fall in and outta love like that. You're worse than Ted from How I Met Your Mother. Well...hear me out. I...I still love Lyra, okay? But I love Gwen now too. Yeah, okay, maybe it happened a little suddenly. I just...man, yesterday was...I-I don't even know. I can't explain myself, alright? I just...I fell for her, man, I really did. She kind of, you know, won me over. She's...what's the word? I wanna say bright. Not like she's smart (which she is), but just bright, like a lamp. And I...come on, you saw. Do I really have to sit here and explain the ins and outs of my emotions? You know how fucking tiresome that shit is? Just...take my word for it.

I'm in love with her.

She takes care of the man in me

Ooh yeah! Sets the bad boy free

Don't understand the way live

Knows when to take and knows when to give

Man, just thinking about her I feel all goofy and shit. I'm grinning and, man, it's...it's wild. I feel...you know...differently for them, her and Lyra. Like...I still think that Lyra gets me, but - and I've been thinking a lot since yesterday - Gwen is...man, I'm struggling here, sorry. I've just been looking at it and I'm asking myself: What I have in common with Lyra...is it really that important? For so long I've been hung up on oh, she understands the pop culture references I make and blah blah blah, and while that's great...is that really who I am?

Oh, you're suddenly questioning your oh so deep love for her after one day? No, it's not that. I said I've been thinking a lot about this, and I have. All of that stuff, the music, the movies, the slang and shit...it's kind of superficial. It's surface stuff. Deep down at my core, I'm insecure and have self-esteem issues. Doing Leia and Lyra (and even Gwen) hasn't changed that. Looking back at some of the things Gwen has said and done from a more...I guess charitable standpoint...I think maybe she might feel the same way. I get the feeling that we're more alike than I thought. She might even be more like me than even Lyra. Lyra, man, she's pretty and she's popular, she's confident, she's really the polar opposite of me in a lot of ways. Ways that really count, you know? Us liking the same movies and shit...it's important in a way, but really it's also not.

Too hot, too hot to handle

Lay me down right now

Too hot, love is a gamble

Don't stop let it out

I mean, you have to have things in common, that's vital, but look at Dad. He doesn't have all that much in common with Lucy, Lynn, Lana, and the others when it comes to hobbies or tastes. Lucy likes that old school emo music, Dad...he's into Smooch, you know, that gay ass KISS knock off band with the pedophile lead singer - hey, no wonder Dad likes them. He's not into sports like Lynn and there's' a reason Lana calls on me when she needs a helper...Dad's worse than The 3 Stooges when it comes to handy man stuff. Yet...I know I talk shit about the guy, but I believe he really loves them and that they really love him.

You know that Rick Springfield song Jessie's Girl? He's in love with his best friend's girl, and at one point he's like, you know, what doesn't she see in me? I'm handsome. Isn't that how love works? The implication is that he's shallow and has no fucking clue how love works. Maybe that's me. Maybe I've been shallow all this time.

One head, one heart

Sweet child is born

New shoes, new face

And the passion is strong

Honestly, I don't know. I just can't get her out of my head, and when she texted me that I couldn't see her today, man...bitter disappointment. I keep thinking about her, about us having sex, and also about us just hanging out. Like at the park, swinging, man, the sound of her laughter, the light in her eyes…

Presently, he turned onto Franklin. It was starting to drizzle, drops of rain pelting leaves and knocking them from trees. One drifted down and landed on top of his watch cap; he peeled it off and tossed it away.

Workin' hard it's tough on the street

Her love gets me back on my feet

The flame is high she feeds the fire

Nothin' can stop my burnin' desire

I see how Dad can love more than one woman now. I thought it was a crock of shit, but I get it.

The fact remains that Lyra doesn't love me like I love her, and, dude, I think that's going to be something that'll bother me for a while, but Gwen...look at me, you see this shit-eating grin? I really dig her.

Ahead, the house huddled against the somber day, one of the second story shutters slamming in the wind. I really wish she could come over today. I was hoping she would - I was expecting her to. It's gonna be a long fucking wait until tomorrow; I can already see myself being restless and shit.

Too hot, too hot to handle

Lay me down right now

Too hot, love is a gamble

Don't stop let it out

Let it out, let it out, right now

And he was. Very restless.

* * *

Dinner.

Gwen sat in her spot and stared down at her plate. Her stepfather was at one end of the table and her mother at the opposite. The air between them was heavy and tense; breathing was hard and she felt herself beginning to chafe. At any moment they could begin to argue, and she would be stuck literally in the middle, too scared to get up and scurry away because her stepfather might get mad at her. When they fought, he always talked bad about her. Last night, as she lay in bed listening, it was If it weren't for me you and your slut daughter would be suckng dicks on the street for pocket change.

His words hit her like the blade of a knife, and for a long time afterwards she lay awake, expecting him to come in like he sometimes did, looking for something to yell at her over. Close the window, the heat's on; turn the light off, it's too late for this; stop pacing the floors, you're making too much noise. He never came, though, and she was left alone to tearfully wonder why: Why didn't he like her? Why wouldn't he let her be his daughter? She'd be the best daughter ever; she'd love him and kiss his cheek and do anything to make him happy...if only he let her.

Work harder.

Be better.

And maybe he'll love you.

Her mother, a tall black-haired woman with wrinkles despite being only twenty-seven, was working on her third glass of wine. She wore a sleeveless white blouse and black pants; her gaze was downcast, her blood red lips arranged in expression of distaste. She took a bite of her steak and grimaced as though it were foul. Her husband looked up with hate-filled eyes and watched as she took another drink.

Gwen slouched down in her seat. Please don't fight, please don't fight.

Mercifully they didn't, though the shimmering resentment between them intensified. She stared at her plate; she didn't want what was on it, she just wanted to go back upstairs where she didn't feel like the walls were closing in on her. She had to finish her dinner, though, or he might make her sit there until she did like he used to when she was little. She picked up her fork and sank the tines into a butter slathered brussel sprout. It tasted like cardboard in her mouth.

"Peas," her stepfather grunted. Gwen, eager to do good and make him happy, shot out her arm to get them, but tipped the bowl over instead, spilling peas across the table.

Her heart dropped.

"Really, Gwen," her mother spat.

Her stepfather made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, shook his head, and went back to eating.

"I-I'm sorry," Gwen said and started to stand, "I'll clean it up -"

"Sit down," her mother said, "you've caused enough trouble for one night."

Gwen obeyed, hot, stinging tears filling her eyes. Why can't I do anything right? Why do I always fuck everything up?

She tried to fight them back, but they came regardless. Her lips began to quiver, then that was it: She broke down, bowing her head to hide her shame.

"Now you're acting childish," her mother said. "It's only peas."

No it wasn't. It was everything.

She was sobbing hysterically now, her body shaking and all of the pain bubbling up inside of her like boiling acid.

"If you're going to cry, go to your room and do it," her stepfather spat.

Shoving away from the table, Gwen got up and fled to her room, her stepfather's voice following. "There's something wrong with your daughter."

"Shut up, Winston, I'm really not in the mood for this."

In her room, Gwen closed the door and dropped onto the bed, her face burying in the pillow. She failed. Again. Every time she tried she screwed it up, every step she made was a misstep. She couldn't make Winston happy, she couldn't make her mother happy, and she couldn't make Lemy Loud happy. None of them loved her.

But at least Lemy pretended, and she was so grateful for that that she cried even harder.

Shortly, the tears tapered off, and she sat up; her nose was stuffy and her cheeks wet. The room was full dark, and she snapped the bedside lamp on. Reaching into her nightstand, she pulled out a brown leather bound book and sat it on her lap; whenever she was sad, he took it out and paged through it. Sniffing and wiping an errant tear from her face, she opens the cover, her eyes falling on a photo depicting a very, very light skinned black man with crystal blue eyes. He's standing on a beach in a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved button up shirt open to reveal his muscular chest. His smile is warm, genuine.

His name was Quincy Harker, and he was a TV actor who played in sitcoms, dramas, and comedies - never a main character, always a supporting role. Looking at his face, Gwen felt a rush of familiarity...and love. She brushed her thumb across his face and smiled sadly.

When she was little, she asked her mother about her father - her real father. Mother pointed to the TV. "You're father looked kind of like him. Your grandparents didn't like him." She turned to the screen, and that's when she first saw him; he was dressed as a doctor and laughing easily with a coworker, his eyes filled with a sparkling happiness she had never seen before.

He was beautiful.

From then on, she clipped pictures of him from magazines and printed them from the internet; she would spend hours and hours looking at them, studying his face, imagining she was in there with him, her small hand clutched in his fist and his loving eyes cast down upon her, or sitting on his shoulders and giggling as he gave her a piggyback ride. She spun elaborate fantasies where he really was her father, and took her away to live with him, and when she was feeling down about herself, he would hold her in his strong arms and tell that she was smart and beautiful and that he believed in her.

As she got older, she found herself looking at him in a different way, her eyes lingering too long on his chest to be daughterly, her stomach feeling funny when she heard his voice on the television. Her fantasies changed: No longer was he simply holding her in his arms late at night, loving and comforting her, now he was touching her, his fingers massaging her breasts and between her legs, his breathing ragged on the back of her neck, his kisses more urgent, more sensual. For a long time, they ended there, but last spring, she finally imagined him mounting her, threading his fingers through her hair and making slow, sweet love to her as she panted his name. Daddy. A part of her was ashamed of this, but another part cherished it, because what better way, what deeper way, to show your love for someone than to unite your body to theirs? To become totally and literally one with them?

The way she became one with Lemy.

She turned to the last page of the scrapbook. Carefully and reverently taped there was the strip photo from Saturday. Her, Lemy, and Leia. In the top one, they were each kissing one of his cheeks while he blushed and looked vaguely uncomfortable. In the last, his face was beet red as she and Leia looked down at his thing. She touched his face the way she had touched her father's, and a single tear dropped onto the picture.

"I love you, Freak," she said softly, "even if you don't love me."

Her lips were beginning to quiver, and she sucked them in lest she break down again. She went back to the first picture...her father at the beach. "Goodnight, Daddy," she said, bent, and kissed it. She closed the book and returned it to her nightstand, then curled up under the covers.

Sleep didn't come for a long time.


	6. Feelings

**Lyrics to Lick It Up by Kiss (1983)**

Every hour without you

Is a life entire

Every beat of my heart

Burning desire

When I dream

Of kissing your lips

I -

Lemy sat the pencil down and read the poem over again. I what? He was going to say something about going to heaven, but that avenue didn't have any good rhymes. At least none that he could see. English, like I said, was not his best subject, and writing wasn't something he did very often. He'd written poetry for Lyra before, but not very often because he could never articulate himself well enough and it frustrated him to the point of hair pulling madness. He'd come out swinging, but a few lines or stanzas or whatever in he'd crash and burn like a bicycle in a Michael Bay movie. Oh...woooww...how did that happen...there's no gas tank…

This one wasn't for Lyra, though, it was for Gwen. And...this is kind of embarrassing...he was planning on actually showing it to her. Gay, right? My bike's at home...before you ask.

But yeah, he wanted to give this to her, and that really put the pressure on. He wanted it to be perfect, like something Keats or Byron or one of those other homos would write. He had this image in his head, you know, of her face lighting up when she read it, and he couldn't shake it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to actually see it. In person.

Paradise abides

In your dark eyes.

Lemy blinked. He quickly read what he had and mentally added the last two lines. Get rid of the 'I' and it worked. Buuuut...did it work well enough? In keeping with the work motiff, he didn't want the sloppy, lazy employee who came in two hours late and did the bare minimum, he wanted the guy who showed up early, did extra, and carried the fucking place. His goal was to make her eyes glow.

Hmmm...he liked those last two lines, so he was definitely going to use them, but maybe not after the kissing your lips part. That put him back at square fucking one. He glanced up; Mr. Wilkins, the science teacher, was sitting at his desk with his nose buried in a Tom Clancy paperback. He was fat with glasses and a gray mustache (Mr. W., not Tom Clancy...Lemy had no fucking clue what Tom Clancy looked like). Good, keep your attention there and off me; the last thing I need is Oh, Mr. Loud, writing something? How about you share it with the class? They'd laugh his ass right out into the street.

Eh, on second thought, fuck them.

He turned back to the page and scanned the lines.

When I dream

Of kissing your lips

I -

Ahhh, goddamn it, I got nothing. He slipped his fingers into his hair and bowed his head in a slumped shoulders posture of defeat. I want the glowy eyes, he thought with a mental pout. Damn it. He took a deep breath and considered scrapping the whole damn thing; he could start over fresh and not write himself into a corner. He liked what he had, though.

Alright, how about this? We take out the last two lines, which brings it in to Burning desire. God, man, this is like trench warfare: Gain an inch then lose a foot. He frowned at the paper and wracked his brain, but nothing came. Sighing in frustration, he threw his head back.

Why do I have such a hard time with this? I know what I want to say, but not how to say it. I want to talk about how her eyes stir my soul, and how her smile makes me feel weak in the knees. It should be simple, but, man, it's just not. For me at least. I have the feelings, just not the means of expressing them, you know? I can do well thinking, but even then I think I have the tendency to ramble and run myself in circles.

And, like...think as though I'm speaking to an imaginary audience.

Weird, right? I wonder if I have schizophrenia. Man, I hope not; I might wind up thinking Leia's leading some kind of conspiracy against me and strangling her to death, which leads to a depressing chain reaction of death, madness, and suicide.

He sighed.

What kind of monster would dream that kind of thing up?

Me.

He picked up his pen and went over the poem yet again, still not sure where the hell to go with it. How about taking out When so that the last two lines simply read I dream of kissing your lips?

I dream

Of kissing your lips

Paradise abides

In your dark eyes.

It sounded kinda...clunky, though. Maybe take out dark?

Paradise abides

In your eyes.

Hmmm. Now it felt skimpy. There needed to be a word after in and before your. Limpid? That had something to do with eyes, right? Paradise abides in your limpid eyes. He ticked his head back and forth, his teeth bared in as if to say uhhh, actually. Okay, take limpid out again. Paradise abides in your eyes. Yeah, let's just go with that.

Now...what's next?

That was the 64,000 dollar question.

Oh!

And in your hands my heart resides.

He grinned. Damn, I'm good. One days it's gonna be me they're talking about in English class. Lemy Loud, the greatest poet of the 2040s and '50s, left behind a legacy of awesomeness that lives on to this day. Seriously, y'all, this dude was mad good. Let's read it all together now, shall we, imaginary audience?

Every hour without you

Is a life entire

Every beat of my heart

Burning desire

I dream

Of kissing your lips

Paradise abides

In your eyes

And in your hands my heart resides.

Holy shit, that's actually not bad. I can't say I'm crazy about how it flows between line six and seven, though. Of kissing your lips/paradise abides. It feels sudden and jarring. It's like Point A and Point B or something. There needs to be a bridge. And would would great, but the last line starts with that. Using it again would be dumb. He wouldn't give a shit if it was for a school assignment or something, but it wasn't, it was for Gwen, and he wanted to see her goddamn face light up like Christmas morning in hell; can't get that being clumsy and awkward sounding.

Was it bad, though, or was he being over critical?

I just want it to be good and I want her to like it. That's all.

He read it one more time. That transition between lines still didn't sit entirely well with him, but the more he scanned it, the less it bothered him. Okay. This is good. Short, but good. Less rope to hang myself with, you know?

Now that that was over and his mind was unoccupied, he started thinking about Gwen, and he got that steel-fingers-in-the-guts feeling again. He whipped his phone out and checked to see if she'd texted him, but nope. That was alright, though. It was the middle of the day. She was probably in class. Hell, there were times he couldn't text, and yesterday she didn't for a while then said I was in class sorry and he was like no big but it kind of was because he was starting to wonder if maybe she didn't like him anymore aaaand I'm rambling let me just shut up.

Deep breath.

As you can see, yeah, I really like her. I can't stop thinking about her, it's actually really annoying, lol. I mean, it was the same with Lyra (still kind of it), I'm not new to it, but the difference here is brah, she likes me back. That's a beautiful feeling, you know? With Lyra, she doesn't, so it's different. There's a kind of...you know...hopelessness involved. It's 'pinng.' What I feel for Gwen isn't pining per se, but it kind of is, it feels similar. I think about her, I wanna see her, I find myself stopping what I'm doing and wishing she was with me. I'm really excited to see her, too. Like, man, you have no idea. I never felt like that with Lyra, but that's because we live together, I think. Seeing Lyra wasn't a special event. She's like a...she's like a favorite TV show that runs in syndication. Like Gilligan's Island on TVLand. I dig that show a lot, but it plays every single afternoon at four, so it's routine, like the sunrise or getting hugs from your mom - both awesome but kinda the natural order of things. Gwen is like...America's Most Wanted. It only comes on Saturday nights, so you sit around all week waiting and getting more and more excited. Kinda like you do with Christmas.

He drummed his fingers on the desk and looked up at the clock. Soon can't come soon enough. You ever hear that song by Pink Floyd called Time? Ticking away/the moments that make up a dull day...yeah, that was him, counting down every second, every tick of the clock hand. Come on, this is bullshit. He looked at his phone; it sat on the desk next to his textbook, the screen dark...cold...like a fireplace after the fire.

That was an eighties group. After The Fire. They did that song Der Kommissar. Der Kommissar's in town ooooh-ooooh. That was originally a Falco song. You know, the dude who did Rock Me Amadeus. For some reason German pop stars were big in the early eighties. Metal bands, too, actually. You had The Scorpions and Accept (balls to the wall, man). Uhhh...I'm sure there're more. Some dudes called Railway (their song was called Lick It or Stick It...I wonder what 'it' they were talking about). Krokus was Swiss, and that's basically German light, isn't? Like Ja, ve love da lederhosen but not da Holocaust ja. You know, lederhosen is for guys. I forget what the female equivalent is called - I'm sure you've seen it, white shirt, green dress, straps - but Gwen would look good in it. Man, she'd look good in just about anything. Or nothing.

Lyra too.

Damn, dude, if by some fucking lucky mistake of happenstance I could get both of them in bed...shew. I mean, well, I might be able to (Gwen would probably be down...I dunno about Lyra), but I don't know if I should. Thinking about being with another girl, even Lyra, feels kind of...wrong?

He furrowed his brows. Yeah, it felt wrong, almost like cheating. Man, he must have it worse than he thought if it's like that. Actually being with another woman never felt like cheating with Lyra. Hell, he could do Leia ten times a day and be totally fine with it, but right now, scanning the contents of his heart and mind, it seemed that maybe he felt differently.

Wow. Alrighty then.

He glanced at the clock again; not very much time had ticked away. Sigh. He put his head in his hands, rolled his eyes up, and looked at Mr. W. He was holding the book in one hand and eating a cinnamon roll with the other; frosting or whatever's on those things dripped down his fingers onto his shirt. Lemy's lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer of disgust. Ew, dude.

Mr. W. took a big bite and chewed with his mouth open. He dipped the remainder into his coffee and brought it up to his lips, but a soggy lump fell off, plopped wetly onto his shirt, and rolled down to his lap. Mr. W. shoved what was left past his lips then sucked his fingers clean one by one.

Clock again. Less than thirty seconds. Goddamn. Maybe -

His phone buzzed and he jumped a foot; the girl next to him lifted her brow and favored him with a sidelong glance as he snatched it up. Please be a text I actually want. He looked at the sender.

3 GWEN 3

Heh. Gay, I know; he did it last night when he couldn't sleep. Just for something to do, you know? For the lulz, as the kids used to say.

Lunch time *smiley face* What're you up to?

Nothing important, he replied. Just class.

He glanced up at Mr. W. He was licking cinnamon roll fluid from his palm like a fucking cat or something. It'd be hot if it was Gwen but -

Buzzz.

Class *is* important, Freak.

Lemy grinned. You're important.

Should he say that? He wasn't used to, you know, it being acceptable to voice his thoughts like that. With Lyra or any of his other sisters, he really couldn't, you know? Hey, bro, that pizza looks really good. So do you. It was okay because Gwen was his girl, right?

Imma do it.

He typed it and hit send.

And immediately regretted it.

What if that was, like, too much?

Then again, we've had sex and said I love you, so I don't think she'd raise her brow at a sappy text.

Right?

He stared anxiously down at the screen, waiting for it to light up. When it did, his heart crushed. He picked it up and opened it.

*Blush face*

Lemy's heart dropped. That's it? W -

Another text.

Am I?

Yes, he replied quickly.

Aww, you're important too. Very important. 3

Lemy broke out in a big grin. One thing and one thing only came to him, and he barely hesitated before typing it out. I love you.

I love you too, she responded a minute later, so much.

* * *

Lincoln Loud considered himself a nice guy, and as a nice guy, he never delighted in the misfortune of others. However, he couldn't say that he was too upset that his boss broke his foot and had to close the office. Not because he didn't like his boss (guy was alright), but because that meant a rare weekday off. Now, having a free day smackdab in the middle of the week might not mean much to most people (there's nothing on TV and Facebook is kinda slow...j/k), but it did to him. One, because all the older girls were in school - he could relax without worrying about being dragged off to one of their rooms like that clown being dragged under the bed in Scary Movie 2. Two, because he got to spend time with Lizy and Lulu, his two youngest children.

Since the boss called him the night before, he knew he had the day off before going to bed, so he didn't set an alarm. His plan was to sleep in and wake when he felt like it.

That didn't happen.

He was in the middle of a dream about trying to fix a radio and failing when something tickled his nose and made him wince. Huh? I'm doin' somethin' lemme 'lone. He stirred, and jumped as something trail softly down his bare chest. Multiple somethings, actually. His eyes opened, and the world was a blur of black and white, like an old movie where the guys call each other Mack and the women dames. Tha fu? He blinked, and the scene swam into focus.

"Morning," Lucy said. Her eyes were dark and filled with evil and her lips were turned up ever so slightly in that Mona Lisa I know something you don't know way that he found irresistible. Her black bangs sweeping across her forehead as she shifted. Her fingertips stroked softly down his warm flesh, and a tingle went through him, starting in his spine and ending in the tips of his toes. His dick, already hard because morning wood, shivered in anticipation.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Seven-thirty," she replied.

While he was certainly locked and loaded, he was hoping to sleep until at least nine.

Lucy propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him with that faint smile. She wore lacy negligee black against creamy white. "Wanna have sex?"

He considered for a moment. He did...but he also wanted to sleep in. "Sure," he finally said. Lucy's grin widened and she leaned in, her hair shrouding them as their lips met and their tongues touched. She dug her nails into his chest and deepened the kiss, swinging one leg over and shifting onto his lap; her burning cauldron of sin was hot through the blanket. He pushed it down, and his head raked across her trembling lips; she sucked a deep intake of breath and bit his bottom lip. Pain tinged with pleasure shot into his brain, and she giggled darkly. Lincoln responded by grabbing her ass and burying his nails into her soft flesh. She humphed and aligned their sexes, her lips wrapping around his head and her slick heat breaking against his skin.

"I like that," she breathed.

He knew. He'd been 'with' his sisters for two decades, and he knew how each one liked it. Lori liked being on top in control; Leni liked being on bottom and made love to gently; Luna and Lynn liked it fast and uptempo; Luan liked it slow with lots of touching and kissing; Lana liked it from behind; Lola sometimes liked to be treated like a princess, and sometimes like a whore; Lisa liked plain jane missionary; Lily liked anal (she had some kind of butt fetish...she did used to talk about poo poo a lot, so it made sense); and Lucy...Lucy liked it rough. She wrote a poem when she was fourteen that Lincoln remembered to this day because it summed up her taste in sex perfectly: Happy, happy, joy, joy, I'm a kinky sex toy, beat me, bite me, make me bleed, kinky sex is what I need. He thought of it almost every time they had sex because it was true then and it was true now.

Presently, he bit his nails into her butt and shoved her hips down as he pushed his up; his member blasted into her like a rocket into outer space, and she moaned. "I like that too," she said and started to rock against him, her wet satin walls moving up and down his shaft in mindless lust. He kissed her lips and and threaded his fingers through her black hair. "I know," he said. He tilted her head to the side, kissed her throat...then bit it. A shudder tore through her lithe frame and she issued a long, shaky moan. Her hips moved faster, her walls squeezing him and stroking him with more force. He found her throbbing pulse and nipped it gently, then draged his nails up her back, slow and deep, leaving raised red welts.

"D-Draw blood," she quavered.

He knew this was coming. He didn't like it, but...did you notice how I listed all the ways the girls liked it? Well, I didn't say what Lincoln liked, but I will now.

He liked pleasing a woman.

He pressed his lips to the side of Lucy's throat and clamped his teeth down as hard as he could. She yelped, and her movements increased. She was gliding along him at a frenzied pace and Lincoln could feel himself inching close to the edge. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, and even though it made him wince in disgust, he lapped the wound like a dog and focused not on himself but on her - on the soft pants and moans falling from her lips like honey, on the way her body shook as her orgasm approached, on how hot and wet and turned on she -

Lincoln flopped his head back and groaned as his climax exploded from his tip with painful force. Lucy jumped and cried out, her body closing around him. She bowed her head, grabbed two handfuls of he sheet, and let out a shivery, "Fuuuuuck." Lincoln gripped her butt and held on as his load pumped deep into her...one squirt, two squirt, three squirt...end.

She shook even harder, then, slowly, her body released him and she laid her cheek against his chest. He stroked her hair and hummed; he loved the drowsy afterglow of sex almost as much as he liked the event itself. Each one of his sisters knew this, and even if they weren't the cuddling type (coughLynnandLanacough) they always snuggled close and shared it with him.

See...in life, if you give, the ones who love you are always willing to give back.

"That was really good," Lucy said flatly.

"Umhm," Lincoln said, "it was. Even if I wanted to sleep in." He brushed her hair out of her face and grazed his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone.

"Sorry," she said, "I woke up wet."

Lincoln laughed.

After sharing the morning with Lucy, he grabbed a hot shower and dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a sweater vest with an orange and brown diamond pattern over a white shirt. His chin was getting stubbly and he should have shaved, but he didn't feel like putting in the time: He wanted to hang out with Lizy and Lulu.

In the dining room, Lizy was eating a breakfast of sugary cereal while Lulu sat in her high chair and regarded Luan with a quizzical expression; Luan held a spoonful of applesauce to her lips and making yum noises (look, auntie Luan likes it). Lizy looked up when he came in and smiled. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Hey, honey," he said. He laid a hand on Luan's shoulder and pecked her temple, then leaned over and did the same to Lulu. She sucked her pacifier and looked up at him with big curious eyes. "You gonna eat for Auntie Luan?"

She blinked. No.

"Please?"

Blink. No.

He reached out and plucked the pacifier from her mouth. "You can have this back after you eat."

She looked at him for a moment, her mouth a perfect little O...then the bottom half of her face opened up like a fucking Predator. Lincoln fell back and Luan cried out, the bowl flying from her hands and sailing over her shoulder. Lizy looked over, and her jaw dropped. "Valacual raptor," she breathed.

"Give it back, give it back!" Luan squealed.

Lincoln held the pacifier out, and the baby's face went back to normal. "Here," he said and stuck it into her mouth. His hand was shaking and his heart was racing; it was easy to forget that Lulu's mother made her in a lab and decided to play God while she did it. Every time she did something off the wall like this, it caught him off guard and he shit himself. Figuratively.

Okay, and once literally.

"I wish I could do that," Lizy said and turned away. There was a gloomy sullenness in her eyes.

"I don't," Lincoln said, then smiled, "I like you just the way you are."

"Thanks," she said heavily and stared into her bowl. He went over and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Hurry up and eat so we can do something fun," he said.

She looked up at him with wide, excited eyes. They didn't often do fun stuff together, and that was so painfully clear from the way her eyes glowed that his chest tightened.

He was turning into his father...too consumed with work and the mundanity of daily life to be there for his kids.

Dad was a good man, but Lincoln didn't want to be like him. When Loan was first born, he vowed to always be there when she needed him; he did this for each successive child, and as they piled up, the promise became harder to keep, especially when the girls started to need him in ways he hadn't foreseen. Somewhere along the line, he dropped the ball when it came to Lizy and Lulu, and especially Lemy - Lemy to the point where their relationship might never recover, and that filled Lincoln with such sharp regret that he sometimes lay awake at night wishing he could take it all back, that he could return to the day Luna gave him to him and be a better father, a better man.

"Can we play dinosaur monster truck death match?" Lizy asked hopefully.

Lincoln smiled. "Anything you want, honey."

"Hm...anything?"

An hour later, after running around the backyard for forty-five minutes with Lizy on his shoulders and pretending to be a velociraptor, he realized that he should be more careful in his word choice from now on. You know kids, give them an inch and they take a mile.

"Faster!" Lizy giggled and kicked her feet, spurring him with her heels like he was a horse and she an excitable Old West cowgirl. He was beat, panting, and his muscles ached like hell, but her delight pushed him on. Moments like this didn't happen very often, and he intended to milk it for everything it was worth. He went faster…

...and felt no regrets.

* * *

Despite being constantly pursued by gangsters, criminals, crooked politicians, and the IRS, Liby Loud was not a paranoid girl. In her years as a gumshoe, she had developed a keen gut instinct that never steered her wrong. She could walk into a room, glance around, and know in an instant whether it was 'safe' or not. If there were fifty people talking and drinking from red solo cups and one meant her harm, she would feel it. If she stepped outside in the morning to grab the paper and a couple mobsters were watching from a window across the street, her Liby Senses ® would tingle.

Thus, when her gut told her something was wrong, she listened without question, and as she and Lacy walked home from school that Tuesday afternoon, her guts were alive with warnings, alarm bells, and red flags. She glanced over her shoulder; the sidewalk was empty save for wet leaves plastered by rain to the pavement. The Hispanic man was nowhere to be seen.

"You alright?" Lacy asked.

Liby scanned the lawns sloping down to the knee-high stone wall lining the way, but saw no crouching danger. "No," she said honestly, "we're being followed."

She first noticed him as she stood across the street from the middle school waiting for Lacy. He walked by, a tall, lank egg in jeans and a denim jacket with a red bandana tied around his neck. He slowed and cased the front of the building, which immediately aroused Liby's suspicions. Pedo alert, pedo alert. He turned his head, their eyes met...and he hurried away. That's right, buddy, not in my town. A few minutes later, though, he was back, walking in the opposite direction, only this time he didn't slacken his pace and kept going until he hit the intersection of Chestnut and Schoolhouse Road, where he turned and disappeared.

Lacy came out shortly thereafter, and Liby shoved it to the back of her mind. It returned to the fore when they crossed the intersection and she spotted him on the other side of the street, leaning against an Oak tree, his arms crossed and his brow lowered as if in annoyance. As they passed, he glared at them. A block later, she looked over her shoulder, and he was waaay back there, moseying along as if he didn't have a care in the world. Oh, but he did; his posture was tense, his stride circumspect.

She knew then that he was one of Montoya's people.

Hahahahaha. Why did Montoya keep sending his worst? Did he really think that lowly of her?

Presently, Lacy threw a worried glance back and hugged her books to her chest. "You think?"

"Yep," Liby said and faced forward. She didn't show it, but she was slightly perturbed. What was one of Montoya's men doing here? She didn't expect him to make a move until at least the end of the year - that one of his goons was wandering around Royal Woods now suggested that he was planning on striking sooner: The poor bastard in the banana was recon, getting the lay of the land.

He was about to get something else.

"What do we do?" Lacy asked.

Liby took a deep breath through her nose, the smell of burning leaves like perfume on the damp air. "Act natural."

Lacy looked at her as though she were crazy. "Natural? Some asshole's following us, probably planning our deaths at this very moment, and you want us to act natural?"

"Yep," Liby chirruped.

They were at a cross-street now; cars were parked at the curb and elementary school kids with backpacks on their backs moved in groups along the sidewalk. Being as nonchalant as possible, Liby brought her own backpack around, unzipped it, and took out her Ruger; she held it flat against her leg, covering it from sight with her palm. Lacy started to reach for the Ruger LCRx .38 Special revolver Liby had given her, but Liby waved her off. "You don't need it," she said.

Lacy favored her with questioning eyes, but obeyed. Liby was the expert, after all.

Looking around, Liby saw him a block and a half behind, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. Alright, you piece of shit.

By now, they were near Franklin. They crossed the street ahead of a lumbering yellow school bus and started down. "Go inside and go down to the basement," Liby said. "Wait by the hatch."

Lacy nodded.

When they reached the house, Liby glanced over her shoulder and didn't see the tail. Lacy went up the walk and through the front door. Liby kept going, stopping a block away and ducking behind a tree. Pressing her stomach against it, she leaned over just enough to see the sidewalk, and saw him off in the distance, walking at a leisurely pace. She tightened her grip on the Ruger and waited. He came closer, closer...then slowed and turned his head as he passed the house, his gaze darting around from window to window.

Come on, you bastard.

After a minute, he did, and Liby stepped behind the tree to conceal herself, turning so that her back was against it. She was coiled like a spring now, her rational mind giving way to instinct like it always did in times like this, her senses heightening like an animal's. She could hear the soft tread of his tennis shoes on the pavement, smell the scent of his deodorant. He appeared, eyes straight ahead, completely oblivious. Releasing, she sprang forward and jammed the gun into the base of his skull. "Deténgase allí, hijo de puta."

He froze, his shoes scuffing.

"¿Por qué me estás siguiendo?"

"Look," he said in good English, "I -"

"Shut the fuck up," Liby snarled. "Make any sudden moves and you're dead."

"Alright, I -"

"Shut up!"

Grabbing him by the back of his jacket with her free hand, she spun him around and marched him back to the house and through the side yard. The hatch was open and Lacy's head stuck out. She was holding the revolver and looking nervous. "Go down the stairs," Liby commanded, "and if you try anything, I'll blow your teeth out."

He went down the steps silently. At the bottom, Liby flicked a switch on the wall, and muted yellow light filled the space: It was narrow and cramped with stone walls and a dirt floor. Boxes and piles of junk were stacked here and there; cobwebs danced in a damp draft. Lacy stood to one side. Liby looked around and spotted an old straight back chair sitting next to a dusty workbench. "Get that and put it in the middle of the room," she said. "And grab some rope."

While Lacy did this, Liby held the barrel of the gun against the man's neck. "Who are you?" she asked.

He didn't reply.

"Who are you?"

"Don't worry about it," he said smugly, "you'll see who I am soon enough."

Wrong answer. Liby drew back her arm and pistol-whipped the shit out of him. He cried out and stumbled forward. "I don't like smartasses, puta. I asked you who you are."

"Hector," he said tightly.

Lacy sat the chair in the middle of the room and looked at Liby.

"Sit down, Hector."

He didn't move, and Liby jammed the barrel into the small of his back. "Sit."

Hector went over to the chair, turned, and sat. He was young, maybe twenty or twenty-one with hard brown eyes and rugged features; save for the jagged scar running down the left side of his face, he was handsome. Liby went over and tied his hands and feet to the chair while Lacy covered him with the revolver. "What are we gonna do with him?" Lacy asked nervously.

"Find out what he knows...and why he's here," Liby said as she knotted the rope tightly around his wrists. He sucked a pained breath through his teeth. "Does that hurt?"

"Yes," he said.

"Good."

She got to her feet and went around the front of the chair, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. Playing the torture game wasn't her favorite thing to do, but she would do it and she would do it well; she learned a thousand tricks from the CIA, Mossad, and Middle Eastern rebel groups, and if Hector wanted, she would show him all of them.

"Montoya sent you...didn't he?"

Hector glared.

She bent over and smooshed her nose against his. "Didn't he?"

He spat in her face.

Typical.

Standing back to her full height, she brushed his loogie away with her thumb and looked at Lacy, whose face was pale and drawn. "Go over to the toolbench and get me a pair of pliers." She glanced at Hector and grinned at the shadow of fear that flickered across his face. "We're going to be here awhile."

* * *

Lemy was a laid back dude (for some reason he hated the phrase laid back, though). On normal days, when the final bell rang, he stayed in his seat and let everyone else play Fury Road out the door. Today, however, as soon as it sounded, he was up like a shot and pushing niggas out the way like Ludacris. "Move, bitch," he grunted and knocked some redhead bimbo to the ground; "Hey!' she cried.

He didn't mean to do that, but whatever, he'd been waiting all fucking day to see Gwen and no one was gonna break his stride, not even Leatherface. See, that's from a fan video on YouTube that had scenes from - never mind, that shit's not important right now.

At his locker, he shoved his books in and slammed the door, not realizing he needed one (or more?) for homework until he was already outside. He hesitated - man, my grades suck lately, I shouldn't blow this off - then pressed on. Fuck it. I'll flunk. If that sick Break My Stride video with the Chainsaw clips can fuck off, so can schoolwork.

Wait.

Do I have that fucking poem?

He stopped and patted his pockets. No...no he did not. Shit. Sighing, he turned around and dragged himself through a crowd of kids like a salmon going downstream instead of up. When he reached his locker, he put in the combo, opened it, and rummaged around until he found it sticking out of his math book. C'mere, asshole. He folded it with exaggerated care (don't want it to look all rumpled and shit) and stuck it into his pocket. There. Let's try this again.

Outside, he pounded down the steps and hung a left. The middle school let out ten minutes after Royal Woods Academy, so if he hurried he could meet Gwen and Leia on their way to the house.

Dude, I really hope she likes this poem. I wasn't joking when I said I want to see her face light up and her eyes sparkle. And no, I'm not gonna say gay, huh, like I usually do, cuz there's nothing gay about it. The way she looked at me at the park on Sunday...that's what I see when I think of her. Not her body, not any of the times we did it, her face glowing and her eyes like lamps or something.

It makes my chest all tight, you know, and….I just wanna see it again and again and again. Even if it means I have to struggle with poetry writing every single day. I mean, that's a small price when the reward is that. A small, small price.

He stuck his hands into his pockets and quickened his step. A gust of wind swept through the street and knocked leaves from almost-barren treetops; they fell over him like a shower of embers from a celestial fire, and one landed on his shoulder.

Little leaf

Upon the wind

Twirling and dancing

Floating friend.

Alright, now that was gay, but I gotta practice, right? If I wanna write poetry for my girl every day I gotta flex my muscles.

He came to an intersection and waited for a black SUV to pass. A woman was behind the wheel and a girl was in the passenger seat. She looked at Lemy (the girl, not the mom), and her eyes narrowed. She stuck her middle finger up and pressed it against the glass. Really? The fuck did I do to you?

It wasn't until the SUV turned and started down the street that he realized it was that dumb ho he knocked over. Oh. Shouldn't have gotten in my way. When a guy's into a girl, you gotta stay clear. One time he almost pushed down an old lady with a cane because she got between him and Lyra. He didn't not it on purpose, he was on autopilot, it just...happened. For what it's worth (stop, hey, what's that sound?) he shot out his arm and grabbed her before she toppled. You know how she thanked him? Watch where you're going, punk. The nerve of some people, huh?

Nah, he totally deserved it.

Anyway, he was coming up on Magnolia Drive, the street that Leia walked to and from school on. Did he smell okay? He lifted one arm and sniffed, then the other. Breath? Huff huff. Yeah, it's good. At the corner, he stopped and squinted down Magnolia; he saw no one save for a little black boy on a Big Wheel. He leaned against a stop sign, whipped out his phone, and shot Gwen a text. Hey, where are you?

A moment later.

Coming to see you *smiley face*

He smiled. She's coming to see me, man. And she's actually into me. That's part of the reason I'm so into it, you know? I guess after so long of liking someone who doesn't like me back I'm just stoked af. I feel like...like it doesn't even matter anymore than Lyra doesn't love me. It does matter, don't get me wrong, but it's so muted. I haven't even really thought about her over the past couple days...at least not like I used to. Will it ever come back? I mean...let's do some hypotheticals here. Say Gwen and I stay together forever. I know that's probably unlikely, but for the sake of argument, say we do. Will there ever come a point where I revert to really being into Lyra again? Hell, forget the being together forever part. In a couple weeks, or a couple months...will this feeling fade? When you're first with someone and everything's all hunky dory, it's called the honeymoon period. Well, man, honeymoons end and things settle down.

It's like a kid with a new toy. All their old favorites fall by the wayside for a while, but that kid always comes back.

All of that to say: I might go back to really liking Lyra again, but right now I don't. Comparatively speaking. I -

I'm thinking myself in circles again. Happens all the time. Basically, I'm really happy about seeing Gwen, okay? I'm a thirteen year old boy with a fragile heart and shit, leave me alone.

He drew a heavy sigh and stared down Magnolia. When he saw two figures waaaaay the fuck off, his heart sputtered. That them? He squinted, but, seriously, they were, like, five blocks down or something. And I left my field glasses at home. Shucks.

They got closer, and it was them; he could make out Leia's pigtails rustling with every step. She held her books under one arm, her head turned to Gwen, who held hers to her chest. She saw him, and a sly closed lipped smile spread across her face. Lemy pushed away from the sign and went to meet them. Gwen's face was radiant and her eyes twinkled.

"Hey," he said as he walked up and stopped.

"Hey," she said with a happy inflection. He leaned in and they kissed, their tongues flicking in greeting.

"I, uh, I missed you," he said awkwardly. He was being honest, though; he did miss her.

She ducked her head and giggled. "I missed you too."

"And I'm going to miss my chance with Dad if we don't hurry," Leia said. She hurried on, and Lemy fell in beside Gwen, his arm slipping around her shoulders and her body nestling into his. She felt right there, like they were two matching puzzle pieces or something.

She hummed contentedly. "How was your day?"

Leia was a block ahead, her ponytails whipping now as she hurried to beat Lupa and Lyra home. Gwen and Lemy walked slowly, neither caring to catch up.

"It was alright," he said, "I...I wrote something for you."

Her head turned and she looked up at him. He stared into her eyes; they were warm and full of light, but with that strange undercurrent of sadness. "Wrote something for me, huh?"

Nervous as fuck now, he nodded. "Y-Yeah. I, uh, I have it here." He reached into his pocket and took out the poem. His hand was trembling slightly, Marty McFly style. He unfolded it and handed it to her. "It's, uh...it's kind of really sappy, but I...it came from the heart. Please don't laugh."

He watched her from the corner of her eye as she read it, his chest tight with anticipation. Would she like it?

She stared at it for a moment, then blinked back tears. That bad, huh? She looked up at him...and that's when he got it: That big-smile-glowy-eyes combo that he'd been thinking of since Sunday.

"D-Do you like it?" he asked.

In lieu of speaking, she nodded and wiped a tear from her eyes. "It's...it's beautiful. You wrote it for m-me?"

Lemy nodded. "Yeah, just for you."

"I love it," she said and kissed him. She rested her head against his shoulder. They continued walking again. "You're good at this," she said after a moment,, and he may have been imagining things, but he thought there was a note of melancholy in her voice.

He shrugged. "I write sometimes. Not very well but...you know...you've been on my mind a lot."

"You've been on my mind a lot too," she said.

For a while they walked in silence; it began to drizzle and more leaves fell from the trees along the pathway. Soon they would be completely barren, and not long after that snow would fly.

"What do you wanna do?" Lemy asked as they approached the house. It was ahead on the corner, lights shining in the windows and lending it a warm, comforting appearance that Lemy had never seen before.

Gwen turned her head up. "I want to listen to music," she said, "I wanna hear what you like and I wanna like it too."

Lemy raised his brows. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yep."

For some reason that made him grin. "Alright."

They reached the house and went inside. Leni and Liena were watching some kind of gay ass Fashion Runway show or something, and Lacy was carrying a strange assortment of shit toward the basement door: Rubbing alcohol, knives, lighter fluid, a belt...other things. In his room, he shut the door and crossed to the desk while Gwen sat on the edge of the bed. He took off his coat, draped it on the back of the chair, and sat, then realized his CDs were on the dresser. Sigh.

An idea struck him, and he glanced at Gwen, who smiled. "Hey...do you wanna smoke some weed?"

She blinked. "Uh, sure," she said and shrugged. "I've never done it before but, yeah, okay." She laughed nervously.

"It's not as bad as they make it out to be in health class," he grinned, "promise." He reached into the desk, took out his green (running low) and a packet of papers, then hurriedly rolled a joint. Gwen watched, her face pinched in curiosity. She didn't speak, though.

Done, he put the business end between his lips, grabbed the lighter, and lit it, inhaling and holding the smoke deep in his lungs. When he felt like he was going to cough, he blew it out. He held the joint to her, and she took it and brought it to her lips. Something kinda sexy about watching a girl take a big rip off a doob...and then start coughing like crazy, her face turning red and her hand waving. "Oh, God," she hitched.

"It gets easier," Lemy said and stood. "You okay?"

Still coughing, she nodded. "I'm fine." She took another drag as if to punctuate her point.

Leaving her to it, he went over to the dresser and picked up his CD booklet. What should they listen to? She said she wanted to hear what he liked (is that...pride I'm feeling?) but there's so much that he liked. He flipped through the pages again and again before finally settling: He took the disc out, went over to the desk, and sat. Gwen held the joint between her thumb and forefinger and looked at it. "Is it working?" he asked jestingly.

She nodded slowly. "I feel funny."

"That's how you're supposed to feel." He dropped the CD into the player and held out his hand for the joint; Gwen leaned over and gave it to him as the music started. He took a puff and held it.

"Who is this?" she asked and nodded to the radio.

"Kiss," he said.

Don't want to wait 'til you know me better

Let's just be glad for the time together

She squinted her glassy eyes and cocked her head slightly to one side as if to study the deep intricacies of Vinnie Vincent's guitar playing. Lemy puffed the joint and studied her. The cute look of concentration on her face made him grin.

Life's such a treat and it's time you taste it

There ain't a reason on earth to waste it

It ain't a crime to be good to yourself

He was starting to feel warm and numb. He held out the joint, but she shook her head. He took one more drag, then pinched the cherry between his thumb and forefinger.

Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah it's only right now

Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah

"Do you like it?" he asked nervously. She was staring slightly off to the right, her hands fisted in her lap and her eyes rolled slightly up as if she was still trying to determine if she dug it or not. She looked kinda baked, and maybe it was weird, but Lemy was getting really turned on; his dick was twitching, stirring, and now pushing against the seam of hs jeans. He shifted uncomfortably

She nodded. "It's good. I like his voice."

He laughed. "Yeah, Paul's got a good voice. He's the ugliest motherfucker in the world, though."

"I thought your dad was," Gwen said, and they both laughed much, much harder than they should have.

Don't need to wait for an invitation

You gotta live like you're on vacation

There's something sweet you can't buy with money

It's all you need, so believe me honey

It ain't a crime to be good to yourself

She turned to him with a lazy, stoned smile. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were muddled. "I like this song," she pronounced. "It's...it's making me kind of horny."

"You're making me kind of horny."

She smiled and flicked her eyes to his crotch, her teeth skimming across her bottom lip. Lemy unzipped his pants, reached in, and pulled his rigid dick out. "See?"

"Hmmm. I do." She looked up at him. "Wanna have sex?"

"Yes."

She gestured with her finger. "Come here."

And come he did.

Twice.


	7. Choices

**Lyrics to Looks That Kill by Motley Crue (1983)**

The brown haired girl was beginning to hope...and that scared her. Every day, cradled in her boyfriend's arms or snuggling with his on his couch, his fingers running through her hair and the comforting sound of his heartbeat in her ear, she asked herself if it was real...or if he was only pretending. At first she thought, nay, knew it was the former, but as the end of the week approached, she wasn't sure anymore. She wanted his feelings to be real so badly that it made her sick, and she told herself that she was simply seeing what she wanted rather than what was. The way he looked at her, though, and how affectionate he was made that difficult to believe. In the beginning, she held his hand, now he held hers; when she was sitting at the dining room table talking to Leia and he passed by, he would put his hand on her shoulder and kiss the top of her head; when they cuddled, he would brush his fingertips up and down her arm; if she was standing and he came up behind her, he slipped his arms around her hips and hugged her tightly, fiercely, his lips kissing her neck softly, passionately. Their sex was different now. Slower, sweeter. He looked into her eyes and held her hand every time he came, and more often than not he said I love you at the moment of release...that always made her cum harder. She was weird, okay?

Over the weekend, he looked at Lyra with lust and longing when they were together, and he seemed uncomfortable, like he kind of wanted to be somewhere else. Not now, though; he was at ease with her, and if Lyra came into the room or sat next to them on the couch, he made no sign that he even noticed. Still, when this happened, she made it a point to kiss him deeply. Not because she wanted to show off (though she kind of did -how can you not want to show off something like Lemy?), but because she didn't know if she could take him looking at his sister the way he used to. Look at me...I love you. She realized on Thursday that she didn't have to; he was staring into her eyes when Lyra came in, and his gaze never once wavered.

On Tuesday, after he gave her the poem he wrote her, the one that made her tear up and almost weep, she told him You're good at this. She didn't mean poetry (though he was), she meant pretending, because when she read his words, she almost forgot that it wasn't real. That night, she put it in her scrapbook, and now it was the first thing she went to when she opened it, reading it again and again by dim lamplight and smiling to herself, but crying too because it was an illusion, just another happy dream like the many she'd spun over the course of her short life.

By Friday, though, she didn't think it was...God help her...she thought it was real, really and actually real. The first poem was her favorite, but there were others now, one for each day since. His handwriting was sloppy but beautiful, and sometimes she simply stared at it, memorizing every ridge, curve, and swirl of his script. When she wasn't doing that, she was looking at the pictures of them on her phone: Him with his arm around her, her kissing his cheek, them laying in bed, her head on his chest and a matching smiles on their faces.

He really loved her.

He really meant all the things he said about her being beautiful. He really meant it when he wrote:

As an angel on high

Her winged grace

Love in my eye

And splendor upon her face

This wasn't pretending...it couldn't be. God, she didn't want it to be; he was her light in the dark, the clouds beneath her feet, the sunshine that warmed her cold and tired flesh. He already meant everything to her, and she wanted to be his everything too.

Part of her held onto the notion that it wasn't real, that he was simply tolerating her the way she suspected her friends did, the way she knew her mother and stepfather did. Maybe he just wanted sex, or maybe he kept her around to stroke his ego. She couldn't say. It wasn't rational, maybe, but who could really love her? She was stupid and ugly, she messed everything up and no matter how hard she tried to make people happy, they always hated her. She had something, some trait or primal scent, that alienated them...she must.

Looking into his eyes, though, those thoughts, that knowledge, crumbled. Maybe he had it too. Maybe they were outcasts both; they say there's someone for everyone, even someone like her, so maybe, just maybe, she'd found hers.

Was it real? Was it pretend? She didn't know, she thought it was the first, but she was terrified of letting go entirely, because no one had ever loved her before, and if she began to believe only to discover that it was just her imagination again, she wouldn't be able to handle it. She was fragile...her heart was fragile. She tried to build a wall around it, but she messed that up too, and everything got through...every one of her stepfather's words, every one of her mother's disgusted sighs and eyerolls. It was weak, battered and backed into a corner. One good punch - from a love that wasn't love at all - would shatter it. This was her one chance at love; beyond it lie only emptiness, loneliness, and the knowledge that she was cursed, doomed to be forever hated and shunned even if she did everything she could to be accepted and loved.

She would do anything to keep the feelings he woke in her, anything to make him happy, to see the warm light in his brown eyes and to feel his tender kisses, his loving touch. She would be anything for him, give him anything, take anything from him just so long as it meant he kept loving her. That might sound desperate...but she was desperate; she was a woman drowning in dark seas, and he was her life preserver. He was her world, and nothing else mattered.

Presently, ten o'clock Friday night, she sat Indian style on her bed with the scrapbook on her lap and her back against the headboard. Dull yellow lamplight provided a nostalgic glow, and the sound of rain hissing in the street added a drowsy quality that would have lulled her to sleep had her mother and stepfather not been arguing. She was never comfortable (except when she was in Lemy's arms) but when they fought she was really uncomfortable, her heart throbbing like an abscessed tooth and her stomach twisting. On nights that they did this, she would sit or lie awake until the stormed passed, the danger was over, and even then sleep came hard.

It started at dinner, as it always seemed to - it was the only time they were in the same room together if you didn't count bed. He was upset because of her drinking, and she was mad because he wasn't minding his own business. Gwen lost her appetite the moment the first shot was fired, and sat awkwardly between them, her head down as though the words whizzing through the air were bullets capable of hurting her.

Which they were.

She finally gathered the courage to ask if she could be excused, but neither one acknowledged her presence, and she was too timid to get up on her own or to ask again. The words became more bitter, the tone higher. At last, she mustered enough bravery to get up and take her plate to the kitchen, and though the back of her neck tingled as if in expectation of a blow, none came. They completely ignored her.

Thank God.

Safely sequestered in her room, she took out the scrapbook and tried to lose herself in happy thoughts of Lemy and her father, but downstairs, the fight intensified: Something glass smashed against the wall, and she jumped a foot. That would be her mother: She was notorious for throwing mugs, vases, and glasses. She never hit anyone, and deep down Gwen suspected that she didn't really want to, she just wanted to make her point.

Were they arguing about her now? Did she do something wrong again? No, she told herself, it was her mother's drinking, but it always had a way of coming back to her. She tried to fight the dread curiosity bubbling within her, but she lost and risked getting up, opening her door, and leaning into the hall. She heard a tapestry of voices but could not make out words.

She had to get closer.

That might get her in trouble though. Mom and Winson didn't agree on much, but they both detested eavesdroppers. She made the mistake once of being too slow once, and mother found her sitting at the top of the stairs, her elbows propped on her knees, her face in her hands, and tears sliding down her cheeks. Get back to your room! This doesn't concern you. Mother looked her up and down as she spoke the last word; she injected it with such venom that Gwen sometimes still heard it as she drifted down into the shadowy corridors of uneasy sleep.

Was it worth the risk? She knew the topic of her would come up; did she really need to hear it for herself?

For a long moment she stayed where she was, one hand wrapped around the knob and the other resting on the doorframe, then she swallowed hard and crept to the head of the stairs. Up here it was dim, and light from the living room made strange and distorted shapes on the wall. She pressed herself flat against the wall and looked haltingly around the corner, the heel of her right foot leaving the ground. They were in the living room, their voices drifting from beyond the archway and into Gwen's ears.

"...alcoholic gutter trash," Winston snarled.

"Oh, go talk to those boys on Facebook you think no one knows about," mother spat, "homosexual."

"Shut your whore mouth."

Mother laughed evilly. Gwen could picture her standing in the middle of the living room with a glass of wine in one upturned hand like a woman enjoying a party. Even with the wrinkles on her face, the cold glint in her eyes, and the hateful twist of her mouth, Gwen thought she was beautiful, and she ached for her love.

"What's wrong, Winston, don't want anyone to know that you're gay?" The last word was a thick slur.

"I'm not gay, you filthy tramp. I also don't fuck nigger pool boys and come home pregnant."

Mother giggled. "No, you fuck teenage boys."

"I DON'T!" he roared, and Gwen jumped. "Keep it up, Margret, and I'm sending you to Betty Ford's and your mongeral daughter to a boarding school."

Gwen's heart tightened, then stopped when she heard his footsteps coming toward the stairs. Coming alive, she streaked back to her room, shut the door as softly as her panicked state would allow, and jumped onto the bed. A moment later, the door flew open and Winston stuck his head in. "Lights out," he snapped, and Gwen switched the lamp off as he withdrew, slamming the door so hard behind him that the walls shook.

For a long time, she sat in the dark, his words ringing through her head.

Then she cried in the dark.

* * *

Click-click-click

Lemy threw his head back and sighed. He wasn't a computer guy (if it doesn't take transistor tubes, brah, I'm lost) but even he knew that the steady, rhythmic clicking coming from his laptop was basically a techno death rattle. Combined with the constant freezing and the blue screen he got when he booted it up earlier, that click meant one thing: Nigga, you 'bout to not have a computer. Lovely, just when I was about to download a bunch of zombie porn.

Joking. You know that shit really exists, though? He looked it up once just fucking around and saw this pic of a girl who was supposed to be a zombie giving some dude a bj. Only...she bit it off and all you could see was a stump gushing blood. LOL. Do people actually get off on that? What kind of sick fucking serial killer mindset do you have to have? Check it out, Imma pound it to some chick's guts hanging out. He could get kiddie porn - you're a pedo and flat chests do it for you, okay - he could even get beastiality (damn, Fido lookin' thicc), but blood and shit? Come on. Fucking perverts, man. Oughta string 'em up by their dicks and beat them with switches. You like jacking off to blood? Well, here's some blood, nigga, enjoy.

He sighed.

Forgive the gruesome imagery and inappropriate use of the 'N' word, he wasn't in a very good mood today - he didn't get to see Gwen after school, and...things kind of fell apart from there: He was grumpy, irritable, and his arms literally fucking ached to be around her. Strange, right? You ever feel that? I do, but maybe I'm a fucking weirdo. I don't know a lot, man, but I do know this: When you're young and in love, being apart from your girl (or guy) is the worst shit in the world. I'm restless, jittery...fucking can't sit still. I've been trying to watch this old ass movie for, like, an hour and I'm only fifteen minutes in because I keep getting up and walking around. It's fucking...man, it sucks.

Click-click-click.

And this bullshit right here isn't helping matters. How long until it craps out? A week? A day? An hour?

He drew a deep breath flopped his head forward: The screen was paused on some dude making a dumb ass face, kind of reminded of that old Nicholas Cage meme. You know, the sarcastic one? YOU DON'T SAY! He had that one saved on his phone, and if someone texted him something stupid he sent it to them. He did it to his mom once and she grounded him. Not cool, dude. Neither is that goddamn Skrillex haircut you got going on, but you don't see me having a cow. She was usually cool about stuff like that; she musta been on the rag that day. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk and nodded to the click like it was music. Man, I wish Gwen was here. She makes everything better. If she was here right now, sitting on his lap, his arms around her waist, hugging her tight, he'd watch this piece of junk Samsung shit the bed with a fucking smile.

Sigh.

This is why people get married, isn't it? Because being away from the one you love is torture? He used to think marriage was just something people did because whoops, you're pregnant. Now he got it - you married someone because you wanted them with you always the way he wanted Gwen. Realistically, it was a little early to even think about thinking about marriage, but he could totally dig the idea of them living together...falling asleep with her...waking up with her...he grinned so wide his face hurt.

Click-click-click.

He frowned at ugly-face-dude. Yeah...he wasn't gonna be able to focus long enough to watch a movie. Maybe some music? He was making his way through all the episodes of Pop-Up Video, this VH! Series where...nah, he didn't feel like doing that either. Did I already sigh? Yeah. Well, here's a double dose, motherfucker. Sigh.

I need to do something to get her off my mind. I -

His phone vibrated and he jumped; he snatched it up, and when he saw that it was an incoming call from Gwen, his heart did a backflip. He hit ACCEPT with a shit eating grin and lifted it to his ear. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. Her voice was low...thick.

Like she'd been crying.

Lemy's smile fell. "You okay?" he asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," she said,"I can't talk long, I just...wanted to hear your voice."

"You sure?" he pressed. It totally sounded like she cried recently, and it was like a buzz saw in his stomach.

"Really," she said. "How's it going?"

"Better...now," he said, and her giggle made his chest swell. "I'm glad you called, I really miss you."

On the other end fabric rustled as she presumably shifted. It was pushing eleven and he figured she was lying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep. "Really?" she asked, a questioning inflection in her voice.

"Yeah," he said and transferred the phone to his other hand, "I really wish you were here."

Gwen hummed. "So do I. You make me happy."

"You make me happy too. You're still coming over tomorrow, right?"

"Yep," she said.

Thank God. She already said she was, but he was kind of worried she'd change her mind or something. He did that a lot - she wouldn't text him right back and he'd get to thinking that maybe she came to her senses and decided fuck him or something. He wasn't used to being happy like this, you know? And he was just a little bit afraid of losing it. Maybe that made him needy or clingy, and that was kind of scary too because he didn't want to scare her off, you know?

He also didn't want to be some jealous, insecure asshole who got upset when she so much as existed in the same place with another guy because I'm a worthless loser and the first chance she gets to move onto something better she'll take it. That's why guys act that way; they have low self-esteem.

Just like him.

But he wouldn't be like that. She didn't deserve it; she deserved the best him he could be..in fact, she deserved much better than him.

"What time?" he asked.

Gwen didn't immediately reply. "Uhh..I don't know. Eight maybe? I'll call you when I'm on my way."

"Alright," he said. "What do you wanna do?"

"I want you to hold me." There was a needy note in her voice that made his heart ache.

"I want to hold you," he said earnestly. He wanted to hold her close and never let her go, to wrap his arms around her and cover the back of her neck in soft, loving kisses.

Don't ask about my bike, please.

She shifted again. "Hmmm, I can't wait. I'm gonna get off now. I love you."

"I love you too," he said.

"Dream of me?"

He smiled. "Every night."

"I'll dream of you too."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Lemy."

The line went dead, and he sat the phone on the desk with a sigh of contentment. It might sound cheesy as fuck, but her voice was like the sweetest music, angel song from the lips of beauty itself.

Hey!

I'll write her a poem! I already did one today, but I guess I'll do another; she'll get two tomorrow for the price of one. *Head tap* I'm like the Dreamcast, always thinking.

First I gotta piss, though.

Closing his laptop and killing the annoying ass click he'd forgotten about until now, he got up and went out into the hallway: Lizy was on her knees in the middle of the floor zooming a red monster truck back and forth. Her door was closed and the sound of moaning drifted forth, which told him Leia was spending time with Dad. "They kick you outta your room?" he asked archly as he passed.

"No," Lizy replied without looking up, "I was out here anyway. Leia was painting her nails." She stuck her tongue out. "Polish smells gross."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it does."

In the bathroom, he took that piss...then decided to hop in the shower. Why not? He had nothing but time to kill; he'd be too excited at seeing Gwen tomorrow to fall asleep nicely, so he was in no rush to go to bed.

Actually, the sooner he got to bed, the sooner he'd fall asleep, and the sooner he fell asleep, the sooner tomorrow would come. The sooner...oh, you get the picture. Falling asleep would be the hard part, but he could always burn. You know...he didn't wanna be some burn out fucking pothead or something, but weed was fuckng nice. Bad mood? Smoke. Can't sleep? Smoke. No appetite? Smoke. They say it cured cancer...he didn't believe that shit for a minute, but he did believe that it treated the symptoms. Then again, what the hell did he know? Ask Lisa, she'd probably have the answers. Well, male nephew unit, the curative properties of tetrahydrocannabinol...blah blah blah.

He snickered to himself. What was up with the way she talked, though? Okay, I get it, you're Einstein with a vag, but come on. I bet even he didn't speak like that. Look, Lisa was one of the smartest people on the planet, he wasn't denying that, but he kind of felt like she fronted, you know? Like she intentionally used the biggest, most obscure words just...I dunno...so she seemed smart? Wearing it on her sleeve basically?

Who knows. You can drive yourself crazy psychoanalyzing people.

Cutting the water he grabbed his towel, dried off, and then wrapped it around his waist. At the sink, he brushed his teeth, gargled with Scope, then picked up his clothes and went out into the hall, which stood completely empty now, save for the sound of music and smell of cigarettes from Lyra and Lupa's room.

At his door, he shifted the clothes to his other arm and turned the knob. Alright, motherfuckers, time to smoke some weed and -

"Hi, Lemy," Lola said seductively.

* * *

Liby turned the chair around, sat, and crossed her arms over the back. Lacy stood next to a lamp, its business end angled down so that the light shone full on Hector's face; his flesh was crisscrossed with cuts and abrasions, and his black hair was matted with sweat. A piece of black duct tape covered his mouth and his eyes were hazy with punch drunkenness. "You're tough," Liby said, "I'll give you that." She rested her chin on her hands and stared at him for a moment. "You're also stupid."

He blinked rapidly against the glare.

"Tell me what I want to know," she said, leaned back, and spread her arms, "and this will all stop."

He said something; the tape muffled it. She turned her head slightly and put her hand to her ear. "What was that?"

He repeated himself.

She looked at Lacy and nodded; the younger girl leaned forward and ripped the tape from his mouth; his lips were white and chapped. "Fuck you," he said.

Liby sighed. "Three days," she said, and got to her feet, "three days you've been here." She circled him like a shark circling a wounded seal, her fingers trailing along his shoulder. His head jerked to the side as he tried to follow her with his gaze. "In that time, you've told me nothing." She was behind him, now on his other side. Lacy watched with slight misease. She didn't like doing this, but her family hung in the balance, so she had to suck it up and do whatever it took to protect them. Liby was in front of him, squatting. She reached out and grabbed his face in her hand; his lips smooshed together. "Do you know how that makes me feel?"

Hector stared at her.

"Do you?"

He shook his head.

She pushed up to a half-stand, her face hovering inches from his. "It makes me angry. I am losing my patience with you." Her voice was low, menacing. If Lacy didn't like the torture, she really didn't like seeing Liby this way; her sweet, sexy sister did such a good job playing monster that it scared even her.

Hector stared daggers into her eyes. She released him and stood to her full height. "First, I ripped your fingernails out, then your toenails." That wasn't entirely true: She didn't rip all of them out. "I yanked three of your teeth out and made you swallow them. I singed the bottoms of your feet with a blowtorch. I shoved jagged slivers of wood under your remaining fingernails." A savage smile touched her lips as she listed the cruelties she had visited upon him; she looked like a woman recalling fond and naughty memories. "I've starved you, deprived you of sleep, cut you with a knife and rubbed salt in the wounds, I even forced you to eat baby shit." She tittered darkly and Lacy swallowed. "In other words, I've treated you very humanely. That ends now." She spun on her heels, crossed to the work bench against the far wall, and picked something up. She returned, and Lacy saw what it was: A simple, rusted razor blade. Hector's eyes darted from it to Liby; they displayed only mild concern.

Liby squatted again and brushed his cheek with the knife. "I don't like doing his, Heck. In fact, I'd much rather be upstairs watching television or snuggling with my girlfriend. And that fact that I can't because I have to be down here with you pisses me off to no end." She jerked the blade, and a crimson streak appeared on his face. He winced and sucked a sharp intake of air through his teeth. "Fuck you," he said, "I'm not saying shit."

No, he wasn't...yet. Liby grinned maliciously and gazed the blade down his chin, along the fabric of his jacket, tracing down, down. With her free hand, she grabbed his crotch, and his eyes widened. Got'cha. "I didn't want to do this, Heck, but you leave me no choice."

Gripping the tab of his zipper, she pulled it down. "W-What are you doing?" he stammered.

Lacy's jaw dropped and her heart started to race. "L-Lib, maybe this is -"

"...necessary," Liby said.

Hector cried out when she reached into his pants and pulled his dick out. "I can just cut it out or I can mutilate it first. Which should I do, Heck?"

The Hispanic threw his head back and thrashed from side to side. "Nooooo!"

Liby wrapped her fingers around it and hovered the edge of the blade over his piss hole. She looked up at him and tilted her head. "Let's see...I can split down the middle like a banana...or I can cut the head off and dump salt on it...or I can deglove it...ooooh, I like that option."

"Stop! Please!"

She squeezed it hard and he moaned.

Lacy licked her lips. "Lib...this is really fucked up."

"All he has to do is say the word," Liby said, "and I'll stop."

"Please, stop!"

Liby touched the blade to his urethra, cold steel brushing warm flesh. Tears were streaming down his face now and his lips quivered. His face was completely pale and his eyes were squeezed tight in horrible anticipation. "Are you going to talk, Heck, or am I sending Monoya your dick UPS?"

He shook his head slowly. Sigh. This guy was a fucking clam; how he wasn't singing like a canary two days ago, she would never know. "Last chance, Heck," she said, "if you don't talk by the count of three, I'm skinning it and then crushing your huevos."

Tremble. Shake. Cry.

But no talk.

"One," Liby said and bore down on the blade; he jumped and moaned. "Two…"

Lacy closed her eyes with such force that her face crinkled.

"Two and a half…"

Hector sobbed.

"Two and three quarters…"

Liby tightened her grip on both his dick and the knife. "Th -"

"Hey."

Liby and Lacy's heads both whipped up. Lucy stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand resting on the bannister. She wore a simple black dress and white tennis shoes; her dark eyes peeked out from beneath her bangs. "What are you doing?"

"Help me!" Hector cried. "They're crazy!"

"Nothing," Liby said.

Lucy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Bullshit," she said flatly, "you're torturing someone."

The two teens looked at each other, one with fear and the other with mild annoyance. Liby tuned her head to Lucy and slitted her eyes. "Yes," she said tightly, "we are. Is that a problem?"

For a moment Lucy didn't speak. When she did, there was an almost inperceptible lift to her voice. "Wicked. Can I help?"

* * *

Now listen up

She's razor sharp

If she don't get her way

She'll slice you apart

"I was wondering when you were going to be done," Lola said. She was sitting on his bed with the covers pooled in her lap. Her silky blonde hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid gold and her half-lidded eyes shone with lustful light. She wore thin pink negligee through which Lemy could totally see her nipples. They were pink, too, just as he'd always imagined, and stiff. In his admittedly limited experience, that meant that she was either cold or turned on, and brother, it was a toasty seventy-five in here. "I was about to come join you."

Now she's a cool, cool black

Moves like a cat

If you don't get her game

You might not make it back

Lemy swallowed thickly. His dick was twitching against the towel like a junkie ODing on the kitchen floor and his heart was starting to blast blast blast like Peter Wolf dancing in the dark. His grip on the knob tightened and his breathing tried to get away from him. Lola grinned and sat up straighter, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her dress and her head tilting slightly back, baring her smooth, velvety throat.

She's got the looks that kill

That kill

She's got the looks that kill

That kill

He was dumbstruck, brah. He knew Lola was interested, but actually seeing her in his bed with blushing cheeks and sin-filled eyes, evil little gap tooth smirk…

Now she's bulletproof

Keeps her motor clean

And believe me, you

She's a number thirteen

"Hey," he croaked dumbly.

Her smile widened and her eyes caressed him up and down. "Hey." Her gaze stopped at his crotch and her eyebrows lifted. "I see you brought a friend."

He glanced down: His boner tented out the front of the towel in a shape. Whatever that thing's called. His cheeks flushed and he coughed. "Yeah, we're, uh, we're close friends."

Lola hummed. "Can I meet him?"

That comment wasn't unexpected, but you never really get used to a girl wanting to see your dick, know what I mean? There's always a rush of...I dunno, emotions (?) - Holy shit, yes! is it smaller than she likes? Oh, man, I hope she's into scat; I have a girlfriend...

Lemy hesitated. He did have a girlfriend...a pretty fucking great one at that...one that he was head over heels for like a woman.

His dick faltered.

Lola leaned forward and laid her hands on her knees. "Can I see it?" she asked, then pouted, her bottom lip out and her eyes big and shimmery. "Please?"

She's lookin' louder and louder

She's gonna turn on our juice, boy

So she turns on the power

In his thirteen years of life, Lemy Loud had had many crises of consciousness, but none quite as severe as this. On the one hand, Lola - whom he'd been kind of into for, like, ever - was half naked in his bed and looking at his boner like a thirsty bitch in heat. On the other...Gwen.

But...Lola was family, right? That's different. Plus, Gwen was okay with him fucking Leia...and all of his other sisters, come to think of it. She said I don't mind. She'd probably be cool with him fucking Lola too. And, hey, he was reasonable: If she wanted to do someone else...fair's fair.

Only he didn't want her to do someone else; the thought of her with another guy (or girl) made him feel the way thinking of Lyra with Dad used to make him feel.

Lola licked her lips slowly, her eyes flashing with lust. She was on her hands and knees now, crawling forward. Gwen did the same thing the first time they did it: Her face was like Lola's, the same hunger, the same fire...but, and this may have been a false memory, there was something else...a vulnerability in her eyes and right now he wanted to reach into his memory, yank her out, and hold her close; soft kisses, gently hair strokes, the works.

Lola was before him now, still on her hands and knees, her misty eyes rolled up and pointed at his face. "Please?" He could smell her dank passion now, a wild musk underlying the scent of her perfume. His dick, which had started to deflate, caught a whiff and came roaring back with a jerk that made her breath catch. His body was starting to smolder with desire and his heart slammed painfully.

She was family...so it was okay.

Gwen said it was okay...so it was okay.

He stripped the towel off and let it drop to the floor. Lola's eyes widened and the corners of her lips turned up in a sharp smile of wicked delight. "Wow," she said and glanced up at him, "you're big."

"T-Thanks," he said and flashed a nervous smile. Dude, she's right there, looking at it, liking it, fucking wanting it, and I'm hard as fuck...why does it feel so...wrong? It's okay. Remember?

"Leia says that thing gets her off," Lola said and crawled closer; her hands were splayed on the edge of the bed now and her warm breath broke across his dick, making it shiver in anticipation. She flicked her eyes up. "But she's a little girl. I'm a woman. Can you get me off, Lemy?"

Lemy swallowed. "I, uh…"

She reached out wrapped her slender fingers around it. He shuddered as the pad of her thumb scraped across his sensitive head. A very AberrantScript like "Nngh~!" ripped from his throat.

"Can you...make me cum?" she asked and rubbed a deep, slow circle against his slit, her thumb smearing his leaking essence across his fevered flesh. She drew herself up to her knees, and Lemy's eyes followed her like magnants. She let him go, brought her thumb to her luscious pink lips, and curled her tongue around it with a low moan of gratification. "Can you make me sigh your name, Lemy?" She slipped her arms around his neck and dragged him to her quivering breast; her smell and warmth enfolded him, and her chest flattened against his. Her lips skipped across his cheek and her breath tickled his ear. "Can you make my toes curl...Lemy?" Her wet, slimy tongue lashed his earlobe, and he cringed.

He thought of Gwen, of her smile and the light in her eyes, of the way she felt in his arms and of the way her hair smelled - warm and fragrant, like Lola's but different...better.

Lola giggled and kissed the side of his throat. Her lips felt strange on his skin...maybe even a little...what's a couple steps down from repulsive? Not quite that bad but in the same area code. She ran her hands over his shoulders then down his chest, her shaking palms tracing and fondling his every curve and swell. Her breathing was ragged, her kisses hungrier, her fingers moving down his chest, now his stomach, inching closer to his dick. She trailed kisses along his jawline, her body hitching and her chest rapidly expanding and contracting.

Holy mother of shit, she was primed...dtf...horny af...whatever you wanna call it. His body should be burning up and he should be losing himself to passion...but it wasn't and he wasn't. Yeah, he was hard, but...he just...he didn't know, man, he just didn't.

She kissed the corner of his mouth as she reached his dick; her fingers stroked slowly along the top of his shaft. Her tongue darted out and prodded his lips like a rapist looking for a way through a window. He shivered, and not in pleasure. Yeah, I know, I've kissed girls before and it's great, but right now it's...gross?

Wtf? This is Lola, dude!

I know, but…

Her tongue pried apart his lips and shot into his mouth like an invasive species of worm or something; it skipped across his and probed the inside of his mouth, leaving a trail of warm, yuck ass saliva like Gary leaves a trail of snail slime. He kissed her back, but as he did, he thought of Gwen.

Lola broke the kiss and bit her bottom lip; her hand was around his length now, stroking. "How is this, Lemy?" she asked.

"G-Good," he lied.

She giggled. "You know what will feel even better?" she asked as she fluidly sank to her stomach.

Gwen?

"W-What?"

Her lust dazzled eyes narrowed. "My mouth." She gripped him tightly and bowed her head; when her lips closed over him and her head began to bob, he let out a shivery gasp. Lola...was sucking his dick...the first girl he ever really looked at, the first girl he ever wanted to fuck, his blonde, girly beauty queen aunt whom he'd dreamed of doing since he was nine. A week ago, he would have nutted himself the moment she gave him bedroom eyes, now…

He sighed and pulled away; his dick plopped out of her mouth and she looked up, her brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

Instead of replying, he dropped onto the bed next to her and put his head in his hands. Lola shifted and sat beside him, her hand going to his shoulder. "What's wrong?" she asked softer this time, her voice filled with concern. Lemy looked up at her, she flashed a wan smile. "You okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said heavily, "you're just…" he looked away then back, "...you're not Gwen."

Lola's brow pinched, in what he couldn't say. "That girl you've been hanging out with?"

Lemy nodded. He expected her to be angry or upset, and he felt like shit for cucking her out, but instead of harsh words, she stroked his hair with tender affection. "Awww," she said sincerely, "you really like her, huh?"

Lemy nodded. "Yeah. I...I love her."

Lola softly caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. "That's really sweet," she said.

"I'm sorry," Lemy said, "I...I mean I kind of want to - you're hot as fuck - but I can't stop thinking about her and I just can't."

A pink blush painted her cheeks (at being called hot, so we're clear) and she slipped her arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry about it, kid. I understand." She hugged him close and kissed the side of his head. "If you ever change your mind, though," she whispered into his ear, "come see me."

* * *

Liby stood aside with her arms crossed as Lucy knelt next to Hector - he was completely naked and flat on his back with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles lashed to a pair of sawed off pipes jutting from the floor. They had to pull a few of his muscles to get his legs to spread that far, but he'd live.

The goth pulled the dog collar tight around his neck, and he grunted. "Can you breathe?" she asked.

"Barely," he croaked.

"Perfect," Lucy said and got to her feet. She looked at Liby, then at Lacy. The latter looked ill-at-ease, the former looked curious but doubtful. "Are you ready?" Lucy asked.

Liby nodded. "Go ahead."

Lucy's straight line of a mouth twitched up at the corners. She crossed to the workbench and picked up her weapon of choice, a black bullwhip with a studded tip. The tip was detachable, in case you wanted to spare your partner a little pain. "Your dad never lets me do this to him," she said and turned. Her dark, stormy eyes twinkled with a hellish light. "He's a baby."

She went over to Hector with swishing hips. He watched her warily, his tongue darting out to nervously wet his chapped lips; the whip dragged along the floor, making a scraping sound that sent shivers down Lacy's spine. Lucy circled the supine man; his eyes followed the whip as though it were a venomous snake poised to strike. When Lucy spoke, he jerked to face her. "I'm very good at aiming this thing," she said. She was standing in front of him now, his legs spread before her; he limp penis rested limply against his nut sack like a sad man sitting on a duffle bag. "I bet I can hit your balls."

Hector swallowed; a shadow of fear ran across his face, but he jutted his chin defiantly. "I bet you miss...bitch."

Without another word, Lucy pulled back her and arm snapped her wrist: The whip cracked against his testicles, and he let out a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream. His eyes bulged from their sockets and the veins on the side of his neck strained against his flesh. Liby, arms still crossed, leaned to one side to see around aunt; tattered flaps of wrinkly skin quivered as blood oozed out, spurting with every beat of his heart. Lacy's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes shimmered with horror. Hector tossed his head back and forth, his chest rising and falling and sweat slathering his forehead.

Sneering, Lucy drew the whip back again and cracked it against the air. "Silence!"

Hector fell stil; whimpers rose from his bobbing throat.

"Should I do it again?" Lucy asked.

Lacy shook her head emphatically.

"N-No," he said, his voice low and broken, "I-I'll talk."

Liby nodded appreciatively. Lucy got results, that was undeniable. The older woman turned to her and met her gaze head on. "I did it."

"You did good," Liby said and patted her shoulder.

"I like torturing people," Lucy deadpanned.

Hm...note to self: Watch out for Lucy.

Liby went over to Hector's side and knelt down. His face was pale, drawn, and sweaty, his teeth bared and his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head off the floor. "Talk."

He took a deep breath. "They sent me to watch you. They're gonna send a gang of assassins or something." His voice was breaking, labored, every other word cracking. Lucy was on her knees between his legs, looking at the wound with her lips scrunched to the side, which suggested to Liby that she was thinking of how to treat it. "They're gonna kill all of you."

"When?"

"I don't know," he said, "they said I should expect to be here for two weeks."

"How long have you been here?"

"Four days."

Lacy was leaning back against the workbench with her face in her hands. Liby watched her for a moment - you have to be strong, Lace, I need you - then turned to Hector.

Montoya was definitely planning on striking soon, but how soon? If Hector was telling the truth, the kingpin most likely wouldn't send a chopper squad until after the party, by which time he was going to be dead anyway, so it really didn't matter. "Are you alone?"

He shook his head. "No, there's someone else. I don't' know who, I never met 'em."

So there was a second scout, huh? Interesting. Would they be foolhardy enough to attempt a rescue operation? Probably not, guys like Hector, young and unskilled, were on the bottom rung of the latter in organizations like Montoya's, totally expendable. See, no matter what it is - the mafia, the Triad, MS-13 - it works the same: Take poor, angry, uneducated young men, preferably from broken homes, give them money and maybe a friendly pat on the back every now and then, and they'll do anything you want them to. And when you've gotten your use out of them, there's always another one waiting in line. To Montoya, Hector was no better than a bolt or a screw; no use worrying if you drop it in the grass because you've got a box two feet a way full of them.

Poor, poor Hector: He actually thought he meant something to the gang. Guys like him always do.

Liby would feel bad for him if she let herself, but she didn't; Lacy might think she was going too far (she'd said as much over the past few days), but the moment you let your guard down, you open yourself up to failing. Liby Loud did not intend to fail, especially when the lives of the people she loved most were in jeopardy.

"I can sew it closed," Lucy said, "I just need a needle and some thread."

Liby got to her feet. "That won't be necessary."

Hector looked up at her with hopeful eyes. "C-Can you let me go now? I swear to God I'll leave and never come back. I won't bother you again. I swear."

Liby reached into her dress pocket and brought out the Ruger. His eyes widened and filled with terror. "No! Please! I swear to Christ I won't! Please, God, don't kill me! Please!" He started to cry like a little girl.

She aimed the gun.

"Liby, don't!" Lacy cried. Liby turned to her; tears stood in the younger girl's eyes. "Don't kill him."

"Yeah," Lucy put in from her position between Hector's legs, "that's too dark even for me."

"We have to," Liby said.

"No we don't," Lacy said. "W-We can let him go."

Hector nodded eagerly.

"No we can't," Liby said, "he's too dangerous. He'll come back."

"I swear God I won't! Please!"

Liby aimed at his head...her finger putting pressure on the trigger. Hector squeezed his eyes closed and his lips started to move as he prayed.

At the same moment she pulled the trigger, something crashed into her hard from behind; the bullet slammed into the floor and kicked up a cloud of dirt. She tripped over Hector's legs and landed on her knees; the gun flew from her hand and skidded away. Reflexively, she threw her elbow back, and Lacy cried out as her nose shattered. The jock responded by wrapping her arm around Liby's neck and throwing herself to the ground. Lucy watched with raised brows as Lacy climbed onto Liby's back and shoved her face into the dirt. Blood caked her face and more fell in fat drops like a rainstorm in hell. Grunting, Liby reached back, but Lacy caught her arm and twisted it; Liby cried out and bucked, knocking Lacy to one side.

Lucy looked on for a moment as they grappled, both panting and cursing, then came to her senses. "Hey," she said.

Lacy yanked Liby's hair, and Liby cried out; she grabbed Lacy's wrist and twisted.

"Hey!"

Liby wrenched Lacy's arm, and Lacy battered the back of her sister's head with a flurry of punches. Hector watched with wide eyes and parted lips, still amazed, it seemed, that he was alive.

"Sigh."

Lucy got up, grabbed her whip from the ground, brought it up...and then down, lashing it across both girls' backs: They cried out in agony and immediately let go of each other, Lacy falling onto her side and curling up and Liby rolling back and forth with tears in her eyes. "Enough," Lucy said firmly. "Liby, we're not killing him, so get over it."

Hector breathed a sigh of relief.

"We...have...to," Liby said from the floor. She was still now, her back arched and a pained expression on her face. "Too dangerous."

"We'll talk about it later," Lucy said. "Right now, I want both of you to go upstairs. Lacy, is your nose broken?"

Lacy shook her head.

"Liby? Your arm?"

"Fine."

Lucy nodded. "Alright. Now go. I'll stay with your prisoner." She pointed toward the stairs, and both girls got to their feet; their eyes met, and a dirty look passed between them.

That night, they slept in separate beds.


	8. A Light in Darkness

**Lyrics to Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns 'N' Roses (1987)**

Lemy was up with the dawn...not that he he'd really been down to begin with: He dozed here and there, but for the most part, he was too wired to sleep (isn't that a Krokus song? Coincidentally, Stayed Awake All Night is). It was like...did I use the 'kid on Christmas Eve' analogy already? If so...fuck it; it was like trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve. You know the feeling...lying awake in bed, fighting to turn off for the night but holy shit, man, Santa's coming! Only this was ten times better than Santa; this was Gwen. Yeah, Santa mighta left some cool stuff under the tree, but you couldn't cuddle with him and kiss his neck and fondle him until both you and him are burning up with passion, and you sure as shit couldn't make slow, sweet love to him while holding his hand.

You ever see that movie...what was it?

(Gwen)

Tales From the Crypt! That's it! Not the HBO series but the movie from, like, 1972. It had, I think, three different stories in it. One was about this escaped mental patient who dressed up like Santa and broke into this woman's house.

(Gwen)

That's the only way you're going to have sex with Santa because Santa's not real. Whoops SPOILER ALERT.

(You better not cry I'm telling you why Gwen is coming over tomorrow)

There's a website called Uncyclopedia, some kind of Wikipedia parody, and the entry for 'spoilers' is fucking teeming with every major movie, TV, and literary spoiler in history. One of the sections is headed: FAMOUS SPOILERS (SUCH AS SNAPE KILLING DUMBLEDORE). Hahahaha.

(Hurry up, sun, rise!)

Some of the articles are really off the wall, but some look normal enough at first glance: He found it once by looking up Randall Flagg (the dude from The Stand...long ass fucking movie but that nuke at the end :weary :eggplant" "sweat_drops:). It started off fairly believable, talking about his character history and sht...then it started getting strange...talking about him getting raped and deciding to become an evil overlord to get revenge. The line that tipped him off that hey, maybe this isn't a legit site, was, from memory: He walked the earth performing such heinous crimes as ringing people's doorbells then running away, making prank calls and somehow seducing people in serving the forces of darkness. How he managed to seduce anyone is quite beyond me given the fact that if the film adaptation of The Stand is anything to go by he was the most unattractive man on the face of the Earth and he had a tendency to turn into a snarling demon whenever anyone got on his nerves.

Ever see that John Travolta GIF where he's looking around in confusion? That's what Lemy did. What the fuck is this shit? It looked just like Wikipedia, too; threw him for a fucking loop. Good thing he didn't try to look something up for school.

Thomas Edison was a straight bitch who played with his two inch wiener three times a day because he claimed it kept his prodigious flatulence at bay. He died while walking through a cornfield: He slipped on a cow paddy and a corncob went up his butt, causing massive rectal damage and literally tearing down his butt walls, inspiring the John Mellencamp song "The Walls Come Crumbling Down."

And we wonder where fake news comes from.

(Is it Gwen time yet?)

That site really looks like Wikipedia. And then you got all these fucking 'satire' sites that don't tell you they're satire until the very bottom of the page, and the satire sometimes isn't obvious. What I mean by that isn't Oh, you gotta use a little brain muscle to get it, I mean these motherfuckers intentionally write it to read like an actual news article. Then when someone shares it, it's their fault for 'not checking.' Excuse the fuck out of me for not going behind every reporter and news agency with a fucking magnifying glass. Maybe you shouldn't write fake ass news stories.

Oh, but it's the Russians' fault.

(Hi, I'm Gwen, think about me instead)

And don't even get me started on the paparazzi. Jesus Christ. When you're famous you can't even sit in your own backyard without some dickface with a camera peeking over your fence and taking pictures. And I know what you're thinking: Right on, Lemy. Man, fuck you, you're part of the problem, fucking buying tabloids and shit, obsessing over celebrities like they aren't normal people. Pictures of Stone Cold Steve Austin walking around in sandals and carrying grocery bags go for ten thousand dollars a pop because you want them, the tabloid slingers know you'll buy it. Holy shit, look, a bald guy walking to his car! Shut up and take my money!

Man, it's idol worship, and it's sickening. It really is. And it extends to every fucking group and subculture, because every group and subculture has its celebrities, even the Dungeons and Dragons geek-ass set. Oh, it's Jimmy Poindexter, he directed three episodes of my favorite cartoon, watch as I lick his asshole on Twitter. OH MY GOD HE FAVORITED MY TWEET! *Sprays nerd sperm all over computer screen*

(Three more hours then it's Gwen'o'clock, motherfuckers!)

He went to a convention once because Tom Savini, the make-up dude from all kinds of horror movies, was gonna be there. By that point dude was old as fuck, like...this was probably the last time they were gonna let him out of the nursing home to sign shit; better see him now while I got the chance. Check it: He saw people who'd been in one or two movies, one or two fucking episodes of a show, selling autographs for, like, fifty bucks a pop. What the fuck? No one even knows you. On top of that Savini was a jerk. Lemy was like Dude, I dig your stuff...Rhodes getting ripped in half, man...LOL. Savini looked up him and down like he was slime. Good to hear, kid.

Man, fuck you.

That day he learned: Never meet your heroes.

The dudes from AC/DC seemed really cool, though. He saw this video on YouTube once. Brian Johnson was signing a shit load of autographs and dude filming it asked him if he ever asked for an autograph. Brian says I asked Chuck Berry in 1975.

Yeah? How was Chuck?

He was the biggest asshole I ever met in me life. Rudest man. Said he signed one autograph a day and he already signed it.

LOL Be careful who you call ugly in middle school, kids; they might grow up to be cool af.

(Just waiting...waiting)

Look, I know I'm rambling, just...bear with me, huh? I'm killing time, trying not to think about Gwen and hoping to tire myself out, you know? And trying not to think about Lola either. I still feel really bad about not doing her - for her sake. I'm sure she went and got it from Dad, but still, I feel guilty. She was all worked up and I turned her down. I know how that feels.

Even so...I don't feel bad on my end. I just couldn't get into it. Whether or not Gwen would be okay with it aside, I guess I just...I dunno, alright? See how I'm struggling with this? This is why I think about irrelevant shit; it's easier than thinking about important shit.

Random thought: That snake movie...what was it called? These snakes were infected with a plague or something and it spread through this town, and the army was about to nuke it. I don't know why that just popped into my head, but this is how I roll. Another movie where the army was about to nuke shit was The Crazies. Not the 2010 version (never seen it) but the, like, 1971 version or whatever. It had the dude who played Logan in Day of the Dead and that hot bitch from Shivers. They were father and daughter and fucked. They were crazy, though, so it was okay.

Speaking of fucking daughters, Dad asked if we could hang this weekend and I blew him off. Sorry, bud, a boy's girl always takes priority over his old man. Maybe some other time.

Hey, it's like that song Cats in the Cradle. Dude blew his kid off, then his kid grew up and blew him off. Not sexually. Gutter-minded mfs.

Who did that? Harry something - Squidward in his toupee reaching for a dollar Come to Hairy. That song was from the seventies, ya know, one of those acoustic singer-songwriter deals. Look, I'm Cat Stevens and I suck! Those songs were cool to a degree because they actually told stories. Ever hear the Pina Colada Song? (is that even the title?). Dude's looking to cheat on his girl so he answers this personal ad in a paper, you know, some chick looking to cheat on her dude. They meet...and holy shit, it's his girl, brah. The implication is that they bonded over things they never knew about each other and stayed together.

That's actually really fucking sweet, now that I think about it. Maybe I'm just, you know, in that frame of mind because of Gwen, but...yeah, I'm tearing up. Wtf?

Sighing, he rolled onto his side and faced the wall. At some point, he lapsed into unconsciousness, his sleep thin and fitful. When the first rays of the morning sun fell over him, his eyes opened and his mind cleared instantly. Almost time, brohams!

He glanced over at the clock: 6:49. She said eight -

Maybe.

\- so that gave him an hour to put on his face, do his hair and nails, and take his bike out for a spin. He swung his legs out from under the covers, sat up, and stretched. At his dresser, he took out a pair of jeans, slipped them on, and went out into the hall, which stood dark and empty. Someone was in the bathroom, though; a light shone through the crack and he could hear the faint hiss of the shower. His bladder gave a slight kick (full, dude), and he rolled his eyes. Seven on a Saturday and someone was up; don't you people sleep in? Guess I have to wait.

That's when it hit him. No, I don't, I have a dick. He went back into his room, stepped into his shoes, and grabbed his coat; one of the best perks of being a guy is being able to whip it out and piss when and wherever you want. Girls can do it too, I mean it's not that hard; still easier for a man, though.

He went downstairs, through the darkened living room, and into the kitchen, halting when he saw Lucy standing at counter with her back to him. Alright, so two someones are up. She sensed him and turned, a mug of coffee in her hand. Her eyes were darker than usual, which told Lemy she slept like shit. You and me both, Luce. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

They awkwardly faced each other for a moment - at least it was awkward for Lemy - then he nodded. "Yep. I'm gonna go outside now."

"Okay." She took a sip of coffee and trailed him with her eyes as he crossed to the back door. Lucy was hot, he'd shout that out loud (like Kiss), but, frankly, she gave him the willies. She told him once that she could talk to dead people. There's one standing behind you now. He looks pissed. When Lemy turned around, there was nothing there, right? He turned back to Lucy...and honest to God, a fucking draft hit the back of his neck. He jumped a foot and ran the fuck out of there like Big Bubba was after him. Big Bubba being the proverbial prison rapist, since you guys aren't on the hip.

But yeah, Lucy was a real fucking weirdo; she looked good, though. Like that chick from Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows. Hey, Elvira, I got something you can suck the blood out of. But not really; my pee pee, like my heart, belongs to another.

Outside, he paused on the porch: The air was cold, the grass covered in dew, and a light mist clung to the ground.

I guess I'm a one woman kinda guy. Then again, if Lyra came out here right now and said Dude, I love you, let's be together, I'd be down. She won't, though, so you know what: Why even worry about it?

He went down the steps, walked around the back of the shed, and whipped his dick out. So taking Lyra out of the equation, I guess I'm just not into polygamy. That makes me a freak or something, huh? Dude, where's your harem? Wait, wait, wait..you got one girl and she's not even related to you? You're a joke!

I know, alright? I turned down sex with one of the hottest chicks on the planet last night. Still, man, I just couldn't, okay?

When he was done pissing, he tucked his tallywacker back into his pants and went inside. Now...to wait for Gwen.

* * *

Liby Loud had never felt such a strange combination of rage, disappointment, sorrow, guilt, regret, and shame. Lying in bed Friday night and struggling to sleep, she seethed with anger - anger at Lacy for crumbling the very first time she was tested, anger at herself for being angry, anger that she was scared. Yeah, even Mystery Girl feels fear now and then, and right now, deep down, she was afraid. She thought Montoya would wait until after the party to send someone, but she didn't know; she assumed he wouldn't move until the first of the year, and apparently she was wrong about that, so why not this too?

Several times during the night, she took her gun and walked a perimeter of the house, just to be safe. She went into the basement once and found Lucy torturing Hector some more - she stood off to one side and repeatedly poked his cheek. "Knock it off," he moaned, "I'm trying to sleep." Lucy looked up when Liby came down; her face was blank, but her sick delight was revealed in her eyes.

"I'm not hurting him," she said, "just annoying him."

He twisted his head around, and when he saw her, he paled. Oh no, there's the mean girl who was going to kill me. Meanwhile he's actively involved in a plot to kill not only her but everyone else in her family - babies and children included. A hot rush of loathing went through her, and she almost jammed the gun into the back of his head and pulled the trigger.

"That's a lot more generous than what I was planning," she said, making sure to look him dead in the eyes as she did it.

Lucy ignored her and poked the side of his head, making him wince.

"We can't let him go," Liby continued.

"I won't come back, I promise," Hector said.

Poke.

"Keeping him around -"

"Go to bed," Lucy said. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Liby started to speak, but cut herself off. Obviously Lucy didn't understand the gravity of the situation. You don't sit a man down, rip his teeth and fingernails out, then let him go...not when he knows where you and your family sleep. Lacy didn't get it either; Liby thought she did, but she was wrong.

In the kitchen, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate in the microwave, then sipped it slowly while leaning against the counter. The only sensible option was to dispose of him. Lacy wouldn't like it...it might even ruin their relationship...but what was she to do? Let him waltz out of here, plan his revenge, then come back?

And what of Montoya? Would they have time to wait until the party now?

She didn't know, but she was beginning to second guess herself. She was wrong once already, and if she was wrong again, it could very well mean the death of everyone she held dear, including Lacy. Especially Lacy. They might not be able to wait; they might have to do it early.

Only pinning Montoya down was next to impossible.

What could she do, though?

She didn't know, and that pissed her off all over again because she should know, damn it, she was Liby Loud, and Liby Loud always had the answers. She prided herself on being strong, fast, cunning, and knowing what was what at all times; that she didn't, and when it was more important than it had ever been before, made her want to drive her fist through a window.

When she was done with her hot chocolate, she sat the mug in the sink and went back upstairs. In bed, she fought to find sleep, but it eluded her; she rolled onto her side and reached out, but the spot next to her was empty, cold. For the first time, she really felt Lacy's absence, sharp and stinging like a razor's edge. She sighed and turned, her knees drawing up to her chest. Silvery moonlight spilled through the window, and Liby watched as it ebbed and flowed, creeping stealthily along the floor, then up the wall, then withdrawing like the tide.

The embers of her anger cooled as the night moved, and toward dawn, her breast was filled with cold ash.

She missed Lacy, and in this moment, as the first glimmer of dawn crested, she would give anything to hold her. Maybe she should go apologize.

But for what? Wanting to keep her family safe? For wanting to keep Lacy safe? She wasn't cold-blooded, she didn't want to kill him, but the way she saw it, it was either him or her family, and she would choose her family every time.

Even if it meant Lacy stopped loving her.

She drew a watery sigh and brushed a tear from her eye. Love can be selfish or it can be selfless, and Liby had to ask herself now what her love for Lacy was. If it was selfish, she would spare him to please her; if it was selfless, she would kill him to protect her.

When it was full light out, she got up, went into the bathroom, and jumped in the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go in the vague hopes that the heat would burn away her indecision and help her think.

She didn't want to lose Lacy, and walking downstairs, jamming the gun under Hector's chin, and pulling the trigger would most likely drive her away. I don't like seeing this side of you, she said the other night as they cuddled in bed. I know you're doing what you have to do, but I-I hate it. Shooting bad guys is one thing, but torturing someone...that makes us the bad guys.

No...no it didn't. You can make noise about good and evil (she did...she saw herself as a Good Guy), but at the end of the day, there really is no good or evil, just people doing: The soldier following orders, the low-level gangster putting food on the table. Okay, objective good and objective evil may exist, but they are far more rare than we might like to think. Most of what passes for evil is just simple desperation.

The ends justify the means, she had always believed, so torturing Hector did not make them the bad guys...even killing him would not make them bad. They were simply doing what they had to do. Life's full of things you must do, whether you want to or not; no soldier ever wanted to watch his friends die or to take a bullet to his stomach, but he did it.

Yes he did.

Liby sighed and ducked her head under the spray.

Maybe she was being unreasonable. They could hold him until after taking Montoya down, then release him. He was one man...she and Lacy could handle him easy if he ever tried to return. Still, the thought of not knowing, of wondering and always looking over her sh -

An idea struck her, and her brow furrowed in consideration. She circled it curiously, examining it from every angle like a farmer studying a strange, otherworldly something found in his field. She wasn't sure if it was feasible or not, but it was worth looking into if it would accomplish her goals of pleasing Lacy and protecting her family.

She cut the spray, toweled off, and got dressed.

Then went to see Lisa.

* * *

Eight O'clock. She told him eight.

She glanced at the clock. 6:55. Her frown deepened and she blew a puff of air through her nostrils. One hour and five minutes until she could...one hour and five minutes at the earliest, because she did say eight or eight-thirty, didn't she? If she left too early, she might look desperate or something, and that could put him off. She assumed he wouldn't mind, but what if he did? She should really play it cool.

Even so, she really wanted to leave now. He was probably still asleep, though. She reached out and picked up her phone. She could always send him a text. Then again, that might make her seem overeager too. Best to just wait.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the headboard and hugged the pillow close to her chest. Her weary eyes stared at the muted sunlight pressing against the pane but not entering, as though the festering darkness within was to powerful to penetrate. Light, happy birdsong lifted from the tops of autumn burned trees, and a breeze blew wayward leaves past the window.

She had been here most of the night, sitting up and waiting for dawn, her spirit aching with sweet anticipation. For a while she slept, but her excitement, and the dreadful memory of Winston's threat to send her to a boarding school, dragged her from the depths every hour or so. He wouldn't really do that, would he? Mother wouldn't let him...she hoped. She didn't want to go to a boarding school, because if she did she would lose Lemy, and just thinking about that made her chest tight and her stomach knot with nerves.

Seeking solace, she reached for the scrapbook; she opened it but did not turn on the lamp lest Winston saw the light under her door and yell at her. She moved to the foot of the bed, closer to the moonbeam falling through the window, and lost herself in happy fantasies of her father...him holding her hand, encouraging her, being there when she needed him.

Slowly, lazily she paged through the book until she reached the end: The strip photo, her, Lemy, and Leia at the mall. She didn't see love in his eyes, and her heart flipped sickly in her chest. She got her phone and opened the camera gallery, and in the first photo of them, she found it, and smiled widely. Her dark thoughts were forgotten, and she passed the next hour lying under the covers and methodically going through each photo, each text message, reveling in his words and his love.

I don't deserve you, she thought as she stared at a picture of him lying on his bed with his hands behind his head. Her stomach clutched painfully. I don't deserve you and one day you're going to realize that.

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. Deep breath. Don't think about that...if you're too busy worrying about the bad, how can you enjoy the good?

She didn't know. She wasn't used to good...Lemy was the first really good thing she could remember happening to her. Outside of him, everything was...not. Her mother hated her, her stepfather hated her, her friends...maybe they didn't, but she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe they did...but Lemy...Lemy didn't. It was so clear, so beautiful on his face that it made her eyes well.

And she doubted him.

That made her feel so fucking bad she nearly cried. He was so good and loving and accepting of her, and for almost a week she thought he was faking.

To be fair, though, how could she not? She had never seen love in her life - at least love for her - and when she did, she didn't recognize it. She did now, though, and she would do whatever it took to hold onto it...and to return his love tenfold as thanks. Thank you for loving me, Lemy.

Basking in his love was enough to lull her to sleep again, and she woke shorly before six-thirty. Presently, she stared out the window and fought the urge to get up, get dressed, and leave. Too early, she told herself. But was it? He loved her...so he wouldn't mind, right? But maybe he would, and she didn't want to jeopardize his feelings for her by being annoying and showing up at some god awful hour or bothering him when he was trying to sleep.

No, it was better to wait. She looked at the clock again. 7:01. Okay, let's compromise. At 7:30 you can -

Her phone buzzed, the sudden noise making her jump - she didn't like sudden noises because they usually meant bad things. She picked it up and her heart swelled when she saw a text from Lemy. Good morning, it said, followed by a smiley face. She broke her neck replying (not really):

Morning, Freak *smiley face* Her thumb hovered over SEND but it seemed like there should be...more. A simple good morning was too open ended and might make replying awkward. She didn't want to make him feel awkward. You ready for me to come over? She looked at the screen and scrunched her lips. Should she ask him so soon?

You're worrying yourself in knots, just do it. He loves you, remember?

Right.

She hit SEND and impatiently awaited his reply, the phone on her knee and her eyes pointed at the screen. When it lit up, she grabbed it and read.

I've been ready *smiley face*

She smiled. Me too.

Come on, then. *wink*

She typed Okay, give me twenty, then got up; she felt lighter now, warmer too, like she was wrapped in a cloud. She floated to the closet, opened the door with a happy flourish, and took out her clothes for the day: A pink shirt, white button up, and gray sweater vest. What she usually wore, in other words; she didn't have a very large wardrobe, and her school uniforms were pretty much it aside from realy formal stuff for funerals and weddings. You don't need that much in the way of clothing, Gwen, her mother told her on many occasions; she'd see a pretty dress and bring it to mother, only to have to take it back and feel two inches tall as she did it. As she grew older, she asked for nice things less and less frequently because she knew she wouldn't get them.

That she didn't deserve them.

She laid the clothes on the foot of the bed and slipped out of her nightdress. She considered a shower, but decided against it because it might make too much noise. Honestly, she dreaded the prospect of walking from here to the front door as even that might disturb her parents.

Dressed now, she fetched a pair of pink socks with lace trim from her drawer and her shoes from the foot of the bed, sat, and pulled them on. Done, she reached into her nightstand and rummaged around for her wallet: It was pink and leather with Hello Kitty on the front. You couldn't see her smile, but you knew she was happy, and for some reason Gwen would look at it sometimes and just cry.

Not right now, though; Hello Kitty's missing smile was on her face and she felt like everything was right in the world even though it wasn't; and even knowing it didn't faze her anymore than knowing flesh eating bacteria was a thing. It simply was, and it couldn't be helped or changed.

She slipped a twenty out, folded it, and shoved it into her pocket. Allowance, before you ask; when wealthier people have a problem, they throw money at it until it goes away. She got up, grabbed a light jacket, then went to the door, turning the knob slowly and wincing when the hinges creaked. She paused, listened, and, hearing nothing, went into the hall. Darkness held sway, and nothing stirred, not even the ghost of resentment past. She cocked her head and waited.

Nothing.

Tiptoeing through the threshold, she eased the door closed behind her (wincing again at the soft click of the latch catching) then went to the head of the stairs, avoiding the spots she knew made noise. Her heart raced and she was sure that at any moment her parents' bedroom door would fly open and someone would yell at her for doing something wrong. She didn't relax until she was outside, on the porch, with the cold morning air caressing her face and the melodic sound of nature in her ears. She locked the door, went down the steps, and started along the sidewalk. By the time she was a block away, the hateful hell house out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief...and all the bad thoughts and emotions lifted from her shoulders like a dreadful weight.

She was on her way to see Lemy - the only person in this world who loved her - and when you're en route to something so exquisitely beautiful, it is very, very, very hard to be in a bad mood.

* * *

Lemy's window commanded a decent view of Franklin Avenue - the direction from which Gwen would be coming too, as it so happened. Not that he sat at his desk and staring at the sidewalk like a dweeb or anything. Nope, he was hard at work on the Zenith - the, uh, transistor tubes needed to be cleaned - and the only reason he kept looking up every couple seconds was because...man, the eye strain. Whew, damn. Transistor tubes are hard motherfuckers to look at, ya know, so...tubey and transistory. He was focused on the task at hand, though, cuz it had to -

(Cat crossing the street)

\- get done. I mean, I'm not a kid, no one's gonna clean my stuff for me; I gots to do it myself.

Sigh.

He looked over at his phone. Ten minutes since she texted. That's not long at all, really...especially considering he didn't even know where she lived. Leia said her house was in Weston Hills, the richy area of town, but she didn't know exactly where either. "Close enough that she walks to and from school everyday." Yeah, well...I dunno...there was that dude in Detroit years ago who walked twenty miles to work and twenty miles home; just because you can walk doesn't mean it's close.

In this case it was, though. He'd been to Weston Hills a few times - his buddy Gordon had a paper route up there and Lemy covered for him a week so he and his family could fuck off to Disneyland or something. The only thing he really remembered were big houses, fountains, fucking Bentleys and shit, and some old lady who'd walk her dog every morning at six just as he was staring. When he passed, she'd glare at him like he was wearing a bandit mask and a black and white striped shirt. Stick 'em up, gramma. He always figured it was because he looked like he came from the wrong side of the tracks...which, with the way the D&O Railroad ran, he actually did. Not that his side of was shit or anything. Hell, Franklin was a nice street -

(I'm looking at it right now and not at my radio)

\- and everything else was okay too. Except for Flip's. That place was a goddamn dump and Flip himself was a prick. Hell, just the other day he called Lemy - oh, nevermind, you were there. But yeah, fuck that guy. Dad said he and his buddy Clyde used to work for him and he was a cheap ass, nasty ass rip off artist. Every time he went in there with one of his sisters, Flip stayed talking shit. That your sister or your girlfriend, Loud? Oh, wait, it's both! Technically he wasn't wrong, ya know, in that Lemy didn't mind the 'cest, but still, what a dick, right? Standing behind his counter -

(IS THAT GWEN? Nah, it's some fuck ass lil girl, damn)

\- like he was the shit. Look at me, I run a gas station. I'm sure your mom's bursting with pride for you down in hell, buddy.

Where was I?

Oh, right, Gwen's house. She didn't live that far away, but longer than ten minutes, especially if she had to get dressed and shit first, which she probably did. She was most likely asleep when he texted. What do you want from me, I'm weak, okay? All I did was say good morning, though. And she texted back pretty quickly, so...I dunno. It's only been ten minutes is what I'm saying.

Anyhoo, these tubes, man...yeah, looking pretty clean. I better wipe them down anyway, just to be on the safe side. I don't want my Zenith to crap out on me like my punk ass laptop. You know what sucks? I have an 8-Track player but only, like, three 8-Tracks to play on it. I knew they wouldn't exactly be available in every corner store, but jeez, man, they're even rare online. The ones I have suck, too. The coolest of the lot is one by Skynyrd that I found propping up an outhouse toilet seat, now I'm singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long.

(Stop looking out the window).

I hate that song. Every time it comes on the classic rock station I think it's Werewolves of London and I get happy...then Kid Rock starts singing and I'm sad again. Dude was cool when he first started out then he turned into Diet Ted Nugent or something. Only lamer.

Speaking of songs, I've had one stuck in my head since last night that I want Gwen to hear. It kind of reminds me of her. I'm going to tell her it's my song to her. Should I do it romantically? Like...remember that eighties movie where the dude's standing outside the chick's house with the boombox over his head? Did I mention that at some point? I feel like I did. If so, my bad, but it was supposed to be mad romantic. I personally always thought it was creepy. He's got a long trench coat on and he's standing there like a statue with this fucking expressionless face. The moment she goes the bed you know he's coming through the window with a knife in his hand. I wanna be romantic though. Girls like that, and I want Gwen to have the most romantic shit there is. Fucking hearts with goddamn arrows through 'em, candies shaped like Cupid, all the stuff other girls look at and go Oh, my God, Becky, look at her stuff. And their eyes start glowing lime green with envy. Yeah. I want her to have that. I really do.

How, though? I can dress up like Chris Farley from Saturday Night Live, you know, the chippendale dancer, and give her a striptease to it.

Shiver.

No, I like this girl, I don't wanna fucking scar her. Imagine my awkward ass dancing around...swaying my hips stiffly from side to side. Uh...you, uh, y-y-y-you like this? Baby? She'd break up with me on the spot and she'd be right to do so.

He couldn't lie, though, the thought of being in front of her in just his boxers, her sitting on the edge of the bed and him shaking his wee wee in her face, was kinda hot. Her looking up at him with big, lustful eyes, her teeth brushing her lower lip, her hands rubbing down his chest and stomach, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers...ummmm. Yeahboi.

He sighed and looked up from the radio…

...and holy shit brah here she comes! He shot to his feet like a waiter spilled some soup in his lap, and the chair fell backwards, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. She was moving along the sidewalk with a springy bounce in her step and a smile on her face. A shaft of sunlight fell over her and the Hallelujah Chorus struck up; here comes my girl...yeah, she looks so right, she is all I need tonight ( little Tom Petty for y'all asses). Grinning like a dumbass, he pushed away from the desk and turned, promptly tripping over the chair and sprawling headlong across the floor. Ow, fuck! He got to his knees and shoved the chair out of the way like he did that red head thot yesterday. "Move, bitch." He pushed to his feet and hurried out into the hall, nearly colliding with Lupa at the head of the stairs.

"Holy shit," she said around the filter of her cigarette, "watch where you're going." She shoved past him and started down the steps. He made a fisted and cocked it, but didn't swing because, come on, that's my sister, dog. Instead he followed behind, and because this is Lupa we're talking about, she took her sweet ass time, getting to know each step and stretch of bannister personally. Hey, George, how're the kids? Beverly, looking good! Have you lost weight?

It's almost like Gwen wasn't almost at the fucking door.

Flashing, Lemy leaned into her ear. "Can you move any slower?"

She abruptly halted three treads from home plate, and he bumped into her; she swayed and they nearly fell. "C'mon!"

"Would you like me to go in reverse?" she asked.

"You basically are!"

She backed up a step, pushing against him and upsetting his balance. He grabbed the rail and held on. "Stop!"

"Beep, beep, beep," she deadpanned.

Fuck this. He bent his knees and leapt over the railing, landing on his feet and stumbling against the couch just as Gwen knocked on the door. He went to answer it, but Lupa cut him off. "That's for me," he said.

"Your Lame Headband of the Month Club delivery?" she asked over her shoulder and laid her hand on the knob.

If you weren't my sister…

...I probably wouldn't do shit either.

She opened the door, and Gwen flashed a tight smile. "Hi, is..?" she looked over Lupa's shoulder, saw him, and broke out in a sunny smile. "Hey, Freak!"

"Hey," he grinned.

Lupa clamped her cigarette between her fore and middle fingers and stared at Gwen. Gwen's smile faltered a little, and she stared back. "Can I help you?" Lupa asked.

Oh, hell no; I am not letting my family make this fucking weird. He came forward and shoved past Lupa. She pushed against him, and he pushed back, shooting his arms against the doorframe and bracing himself. Gwen's brow raised in bemusement. "Hey," he said again, then, over his shoulder, "will you fuck off? You're embarrassing me."

Lupa staggered back and took a rip from her smoke. "That's for saying I'm slow." She blew a plume of smoke into his face, then turned on her heels and fucked off.

"Sorry about that," Lemy said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "she's, uh, she's temperamental. Cuts herself and shit."

"Do not," her voice drifted from the dining room.

Gwen giggled. "Wow, okay."

For an awkward moment he didn't know what to do, then he leaned in and pecked her on the lips. She smiled and did the same to him, her mouth lingering over his and her breath flowing into his nostrils. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth and hers licking it slowly, playfully. She stepped into his arms and he took her butt in his hands, squeezing it and bringing her body flush with his. "It's almost like you're happy to see me, Freak," she said.

"I am," he said.

Her eyes glinted. "I'm happy to see you."

He started to speak again, but Loan cut him off from the couch. "Shut the door! You're letting in the outside." He shot her a dirty look; she was sitting on the couch with a video game controller in her hands. She wore a rumpled black hoodie that was two sizes too big and probably hadn't been washed in a month, and her short blonde hair was matted and messy. Lemy grimaced. God, that girl was a mess - and Dad and her mom just let her go. Twenty-one, no job, played video games all day, lived on Doritos and Mountain Dew, had Warhammer and fucking...other geek apparel...stacks of mangas or what the fuck ever you call it in her dirty pigsty room...she was an internet joke or something, a female fucking neckbeard; if Dad didn't throw her pity meat every once in a while she'd still be a virgin..and always would be.

"Let's go upstairs," Lemy said and turned back to Gwen.

"Alright," she said and shut the door behind her. He pecked her lips again, took her hand in his own, and laced their fingers together.

At the top of the stairs, Lizy popped outta nowhere and scared the shit out of him. "Hi!" she said. "Can you…?" she tilted to one side to see around him, and her face fell a little. "Oh...your girlfriend's here. Nevermind."

"Hi," Gwen said sheepishly and lifted her free hand.

"What do you need?" Lemy asked.

Lizy sighed. "My T-Rex is broken again."

Oh, it is? Waaaat? I never would have suspected in a million years. "Bring him here," Lemy said.

Lizy blinked. "Can you go get him? T-There's a spider in my room."

Huh? "Since when do you not like spiders?"

"Since they started getting real big," she said. Her eyes were real big too. Lemy snorted. How can you you turn down a face like that? Kid's too goddamn cute for her own good; if Lana entered her into a beauty pageant she'd win hands down.

Though, to be honest, he didn't particularly like the thought of his little sister being in some kinda goddamn meat parade. "Alright, where is he?"

"My bed."

While Lemy went off to get it, Gwen stood awkwardly th the top of the stairs as Lizy looked her up and down as if trying to decide if she was worthy or not. Of course I'm not, Gwen thought.

"You do adult stuff with my big brother," the little girl said evenly, and Gwen's cheeks flushed.

...Wow? Heh, she didn't know how to respond to that, but okay. "Y-Yeah. I do."

Lizy stared at her for a moment. "That means you love him."

It was statement, not a question.

"Yes," Gwen said with a smile, "I love him."

Lizy nodded. "Well, I love him too, and one day I'm gonna do adult stuff with him." She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, looking so much like her sister Leia that it was scary. "Just so you know."

Gwen was shocked into laughter. The Loud girls start early, don't they? "Sure," she nodded, "that's...fine with me."

"Good."

Momentarily, Lemy returned with a toy dinosaur in his hand. "Alright," he said and went into his room, "let's fix this guy up."

The little girl broke out in a big smile and followed her brother, Gwen bringing up the rear. She could understand why Lizy wanted to 'do adult stuff' with Lemy, he was amazing. So kind and sweet and gentle - he said he'd only been with Lyra and Leia...why the others weren't knocking down his door was beyond her.

Oh well.

More for me.

In his room, she sat at the foot of the bed while he dropped into his chair. Lizy stood next to him with her hands behind her back and a shy look on her face. "Can I sit on your lap?"

"Sure," he said easily and held out his arm. The little girl smiled and crawled up, situating herself on his knee. Lemy reached around her and laid the dinosaur on its side. "I thought I told you to stop sending him down the stairs," he said as he reached into his drawer for a screwdriver.

"But it's fun," Lizy said.

"Yeah, for you," Lemy replied, "but look at him. He's missing pieces and sh - stuff. Looks like a dog chewed him up."

Lizy giggled. "He doesn't look that bad."

Lemy opened the dinosaur and did something that Gwen couldn't see, then replaced the cover and sat him upright. "Got your remote?" he asked.

The little girl reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a small remote control. She pressed a button, and the dinosaur took a few jerky steps forward, letting out a roar. Lizy's face lit up and she twisted around to look at her brother. "There you go," he said, "no more stairs." He tapped his pointer finger against her forehead, then kissed it. Lizy laughed and squirmed.

Gwen's heart melted. He'd make such a good dad.

Something deep in her loins stirred, and she pressed her knees together.

"I won't send him down the stairs anymore," Lizy said. She took the dinosaur in her hands and jumped up. "I promise."

"Good," he said, "I don't know if he can handle much more abuse."

Lizy ticked her head to one side. "I don't know. He's tough and strong. Like you."

Lemy laughed. "Yeah, I guess he is."

She took her toy and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. When they were alone, Lemy sat back in his chair and sighed.

Gwen watched him for a moment, then scooted closer. Her heart was inexplicably racing and her core was beginning to burn. "You're really good with her," she said.

"Yeah, like I said, we're close," he said and turned to face her. Her eyes immediately darted to his crotch, and her body cried out for penetration so hard she cringed...to be filled with his hot, creamy essence...to be planted with his fertile seed. "Sometimes I think…" he trailed off, and his eyes darted away as if in thought.

Gwen frowned. "What?"

He sucked his lips in and shook his head. "Sometimes...I don't know, it's like...cuz Dad doesn't really spend much time with her either, you know? It's like, sometimes I think she looks at me as kind of a surrogate." He held up his hand. "Kind of."

Gwen reached out and laid her hand on his knee, the touch of their bodies producing an electric spark that both of them felt. "You're a good big brother," she said, "and you'd make a wonderful dad."

"Thanks," he said, "I try."

She got up, turned, and sat sideways on his lap, her right arm snaking around his neck and her left hand cupping his cheek. He stared up at her with those big brown eyes, so full of love and warmth, and her center quivered. "You're amazing," she said, "kind, caring, loving, sexy…" she grinned salaciously.

"You're all those things too," he said. "And more."

A ripple went through her as it always did when he complimented her. "Do you really think so?" she asked.

He slipped his arm around her waist and held her close. "I do."

She smiled and blinked back tears. She never thought it was possible to be this happy, to have something so good and beautiful. Not possible for her, at least.

"I have something I want you to hear," he said and leaned over. "It's...it's kind of cheesy, I guess, but...every time I hear this song I think of you." He pulled open his drawer, took out a CD case, and opened it. Gwen watched as he took the disc out and dropped it into the CD player. Her eyes flicked to the case: The cover boasted skulls adoring each end of a four point cross. Hm. What kind of song on there makes him think of me?

He hit PLAY and sat back, his free hand taking hers and squeezing. Guitar filtered from the speakers and she rested her head against his, her arm tightening around his shoulder as if to keep him from floating away.

She's got a smile it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything

Was as fresh as the bright blue sky

A smile touched her lips and his hand rubbed a lazy, comforting circle in her upper thigh, sending pangs like gentle thunderbolts into her middle.

Now and then when I see her face

She takes me away to that special place

And if I'd stare too long

I'd probably break down and cry

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes; she pulled away from his grasp and ran her fingers through his hair. Her body and heart were leading her, and she put up no resistance as her lips were drawn slowly and inexorably to his, not that she would ever want to. She was completely and totally his; her heart belonged to him, her soul, and her future too.

Oh, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Sweet love of mine

Their tongues danced in slowly harmony to the music, her hands caressing his face and his on her knee. She turned and straddled him, her legs on either side. The kiss deepened, his hands fleeing on her legs, skin scraping skin, the hem of her dress inching higher and her wet heat intensifying. His growing bulge raked against her lips and her body fluttered.

She's got eyes of the bluest skies

As if they thought of rain

I hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain

His head prodded against her opening, his body desperately seeking holy union with hers. She took him in her hand and guided him, then, holding his gaze with her own, she sank down, accepting him deep into her sacred womb, a place no other man had touched and never would touch, a place for him and him alone, his refuge as he was hers. Sensations crackled between them, and both moaned softly as they joined, his member filling her, warming her, completing her.

She splayed her hands on his shoulders and lifted her hips, then brought them flush with his. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and stared into her eyes, his gaze penetrating her just as deeply as his penis, searching her soul, her heart, seeing her - flaws, vulnerabilities and all - and loving her anyway.

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I'd hide

And pray for the thunder

And the rain

To quietly pass me by

"I love you," he said with fierce earnestness. Gwen responded by tilted her head and kissing him, her tongue wildly swirling and tasting the inside of his mouth, her fingers gripping his shirt and her hips rocking faster. She needed him deeper...in every sense of the word; in her body, in her spirit, in her mind...he was the light in her darkness, and the darkness within was great; deeper to cast away the shadows, deeper to scatter the festering night, deeper to heal her broken heart, and to save her shunned, unloved soul.

Oh, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Sweet love of mine

She pressed her forehead against his as her body began to unravel. She peppered kisses across his cheeks and his forehead, her nails grazing his scalp. He thereaded his fingers into her hair and pushed up, up, getting deeper, higher, touching the opening to her altar, the one now and forevermore dedicated solely to him. "I love you," she trembled.

"I love you too," he said, "I love you so much."

Her walls clenched around him and she cried out in prayerful worship. His orgasm expanded against her own, and spine-tingling heat spurted into her garden. She held his shirt, bowed her head, and rode out her climax like a woman riding a wild Mustang, the sun shaft glow of religious rapture falling upon her from the heavens and lifting her as if to God. Tears spilled down her cheeks and his seed continued to pump into her, their bodies and spirits in hallowed communion, their hearts throbbing in time, beating now as one.

When it passed she buried her face into the crook of his neck, their bodies still joined, now quivering and sticky, and wept deeply. Lemy simply held her shaking body to his, tightly. "I won't let go," he vowed, and she wept harder, "I promise. I'll never let go."

He was crying now too.

Where do we go?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go?


	9. Moving On

**Lyrics to Boogie Fever by The Sylvers (1975); Keep It Comin' Love by KC and the Sunshine Band (1976)**

In the beginning, she thought she could hack it...she thought she could do what her sister did...but she was weak. She couldn't. She came to this realization slowly, over the course of three terrible days watching and assisting a man being tortured, listening to the sounds of his muffled screaming and trying but failing to avoid his wide, pain filled eyes, trying and failing to ignore the dark shadow of her sister's face, her lover's face. In her sleep, she heard the tick of his fingernails dropping into a metal can, the ends wet with blood and quivering quick, and she heard Liby's voice. This little piggy went to market...this little piggy stayed home...and this little piggy told me what I wanted to know. In the day, as she gazed out the window during class, her mind troubled and her eyes faraway, she could smell the astringent odor of piss and fear, both of which soaked him, she could taste the coppery twang of blood spilling from his split lips as though it were her own. By Thursday, she could barely sleep, and when she did, she was back in that dank torture chamber, watching helplessly as Liby gleefully yanked his teeth out one-by-one with a pair of needle nose pliers, her lips arranged in a mad smile and hellfire in her eyes. When she would wake and see her lover's face, she would start and shy away.

It's okay, she told herself, it's just Liby, and we're only doing what we have to. It's us or him.

She knew this...but knowing something is a whole lot different from seeing what goes into it. The Vietnam War was unpopular and unromanticized unlike like past conflicts because it was broadcast directly into living rooms the world over. Common people, for the first time, saw what war really was. It's easy to be idealistic when the closest you come is waving the boys in blue off as the band plays Johnny Comes Marching Home, but not so easy when you see burned and bullet blasted bodies strewn forsakenly across a battlefield like garbage. America lost its ideals of war in 1967, and nearly eighty years later, Lacy Loud lost her newfound appetite for her sister's consequentialism - the ends justify the means, she said, and Lacy agreed...until she saw just what the means really were.

For two days she fought against her disgust and horror. Liby needed her to be strong, and so did everyone else. This was serious shit; that Montoya asshole was plotting to kill them. Her resolve, however, steadfastly crumbled with every blow, every strangled cry, every one of Liby's deep-throated-laughs-of-evil. Just when she thought she was going to break, he talked...and Liby wanted to shoot him.

Shooting someone who's shooting at you is different from shooting someone tied up on the floor. One is self-defense, the other is cold-blooded murder. He wasn't a good person, hell, he may have been a terrible person, but he was still a person, and Liby was going to shoot him like a feral dog.

That's when Lacy snapped; she didn't realize she was striking until she and Liby were spilling to the floor, the gun flying from the older girl's hand and landing in the dirt, the report deafening in the small space. She didn't feel Liby's elbow smashing into her nose, didn't feel the hot blood gushing down her face, she didn't even think, she simply did. That's what one does when it's The Right Thing.

When Lucy broke them up and they both got to their feet, their gazes met, and Lacy saw in her sister's eyes something cold and reptilian, something alien and unlike the warmth and love she was used to. It was horrible, evil, and it made her soul twinge as if in pain.

This wasn't the Liby she fell in love with...this wasn't the girl who made her heart race and her stomach flutter. This was someone else, something else.

Something that scared her...and repulsed her.

That night, she stayed in Lupa and Lyra's room, a blanket spread across the middle of the floor as a makeshift bed. She spoke to neither of them, but she could feel them glancing at her as she tried and failed to lose herself in a copy of Sports Illustrated. She could practically hear Lupa snidely asking Trouble in paradise?

Yes, by the way, there was; paradise wasn't what it seemed. Like an idyllic town with white picket fences and shady streets that harbored a dark, Stephen Kingian secret. Liby wasn't what she seemed.

That realization overwhelmed her, and she jumped up and rushed to the bathroom so she could cry in peace. She felt hurt, betrayed, and so lost that her head spun. She had loved her sister just over two months, but even so, she couldn't imagine life without her, couldn't and wouldn't remember life before her. But was it even true? Was Liby true? Lacy couldn't say - she never thought her sister possessed such callous cruelty, and after seeing it for herself, she just didn't know.

Presently, Saturday morning, Lacy stood in the kitchen with her back against the counter and a mug of coffee in her hand, a curl of steam rising into the air. She rarely drank this stuff - your body needs electrolytes, not caffeine - but she needed something to melt the ice in her bones, and to warm her frozen spirit. Leia was bent and rummaging in the fridge, and Lacy watched her absently as she tried to gather the (courage?) to go to Liby, to...she didn't know what. Talk about Hector, at least.

And probably about them.

Leia sighed. "There is never anything in here." She stood and crossed her arms with a huff. "I'm going to have to eat pickles and peanut butter like I'm pregnant."

"You can have one of my sports bars," Lacy said, barely even realizing she was speaking. She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped, the boiling liquid burning the inside of her mouth. She hardly noticed that either.

The younger girl rolled her eyes. "I don't want a sports bar, I want eggs and stuff."

In the living room, Loan shouted, "Come on!" as her game character died. Or something. Honestly, Lacy didn't know and she didn't care. Sighing again, Leia crossed to the pantry, opened it, and looked around for the sports bars, pushing up on her tippy toes and stretching to reach. She grabbed one and ripped the wrapper off.

A vision flashed across Lacy's mind - her and Liby in the wooded clearing after target practicing, naked and holding each other in the warm afterglow of love, Liby stroking her face and staring deeply into her eyes. Another: Liby grimacing tightly as she ripped one of Hector's teeth out, her eyes like chips of ice. The mug trembled in Lacy's hand and a little bit of coffee splashed over the rim, burning her finger. She winced and squeezed her eyes closed against a rush of tears.

She loved Liby more than anything...or the Liby she thought she knew. She knew the first image, the sweet, smiling, perky sister-lover...she did not know the monster in the second one, and she didn't think she wanted to.

"Ugh, how do you eat these things?" Leia asked through a mouthful of food. "It's like cardboard." She peeled the wrapper down like a banana skin and took another bite though. Lacy ignored her and took another sip. Maybe it was her imagination, but the coffee tasted like cardboard too. She sighed, sat the mug aside, and started to push away from the counter, but stopped when her phone buzzed. She reached into her pocket, took it out, and looked at the screen.

A text.

From Liby,

Come to the basement. We need to talk.

* * *

In a family as big as Liby Loud's, you're bound to be distanced from certain members and, perhaps, closer to others. Of her aunts, she was the closest with Lisa; even then their relationship was more brisk and formal than it was warm and comfortable. Lisa, being the resident genius, had often assisted Liby in her...endeavors...with technological support. Last year, Liby had her develop a vaccine against every type of noxious gas on the market (black or otherwise). She needed to be innoculated every three months, but those trimonthly shots were well worth being able to breathe tear gas, mustard gas, and Zyklon-B as though they were the sweetest Rocky Mountain air.

In return, Liby procured live specimens for Lisa's secret research; cats, dogs, the occasional low-level mobster. Liby was vaguely aware of her aunt's genetic studies, but did her best to ignore them. It was hard, though, when Lisa was in a particularly chatty mood and wanted to show them off: Rats with too-human faces; severed heads in tanks of liquid that literally followed you with their eyes, their lips moving in silent curses...or pleas for death; a terrifying dog/spider hybrid with the brain of an ape who was seemingly always erect (he only does that when you're here); a golden retriever with the intelligence of a man, and who could communicate by pushing Scrabble tiles into place with his nose. I'm very lonely, it told her once, can you stay with me? Just for a while?

Her pride and joy ("My greatest accomplishment") was Lulu, a generic hodgepodge of god-knows-what in the form of a cute one-year-old whose face could open like a venus fly trap and who could produce spider silk by wiggling her fingers. Her abilities were largely unrealized, and Lisa admitted again and again that There's no telling what she'll be capable of as she develops. The mad genius was uber secretive about her daughter, and one never knew what to expect from her. Just last week, she somehow glued Lyra to the ceiling; when Dad found her, she was hanging upside down, Lulu innocently tugging her hair and smiling around her pacifier.

You could say what you wanted about Liby and her approach to things, but even she was uneasy about her aunt's...ahem...pursuits. She didn't believe in God, but she did believe in a natural order, and with every breath she drew, Lisa Loud defiantly bucked it.

After her shower, Liby dressed in a skirt and a sleeveless white blouse. She put on her shoulder rig, tucked the Ruger into the holster, and slipped on a forest green blazer with the crest of a private school in Detroit (Ridgewood Academy) over the left breast. She spent a month undercover there last fall and kept the jacket because sometimes you need something to hide the fact that you're carrying. In the hallway, she went to the stairs leading into the attic and paused when Lyra came out of her room.

"Hey, there you are," the older girl said, her tone friendly, "can we talk for a minute?"

Liby assumed this was about her and Lacy. "I'm kind of in the middle of something. Maybe later." Her voice was sharper than she meant.

"Oh," Lyra said, her eyes darting down, "okay, well...when you're done, come hang, okay?"

Liby nodded. "Sure."

Without waiting for a reply, she climbed the stairs, the feeling of her sister's gaze hot on her back. Ar the top, a hallway opened off to the right. Doors lined either side. The woodwork was bare, unpainted, and the only illumination came from a series of ceiling bulbs closed in yellow plastic cages. Lana had been meaning to finish the third floor for years now, but never seemed to have the time for it.

Liby strode down the corridor, passing the rooms where her mother and aunts slept when they weren't spending the night with Dad. Lisa occupied the two at the very end, one on either side. Her experiments were through a third door, rows of abominations that Liby prefered not to think about. Music drifted from one of the rooms, and Liby stopped long enough to determine that it was coming from the room to her left, Lisa's personal quarters. She knocked and waited for an answer, but got none. She knocked again, then tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

She turned it and pushed the door open. Lisa was sitting at a desk, her back to Liby; a table lamp cast muted glow across the surface. The music emanated from a transistor radio that Lemy rebuilt and gave her for her last birthday. You'd expect a mad scientist to listen to classical composers like Bach and Mozart. Nope. Lisa liked disco. For some reason, that struck Liby as the strangest of her character traits.

I took my baby to the drive-in show

She turned the speaker down

And then she turned on the radio

I watched a silent movie, diggin' funky sound

A metal cage hung from a pole next to the desk. Inside a green and yellow parrot was perched on a little swing, facing away from her, its head banging against the bars as if seeking escape from Lisa's Disco Dance Party...permanently.

Liby cleared her throat. Lisa's head turned back and forth as she scanned a sheaf of papers spread across the desk. "Lisa?"

She's got the boogie fever

She likes to boogie down

Boogie fever

I think it's going around

"Lisa." Firmer, louder, still drowned out by the piano, horn, and woo, woo, woos of a dead language. Liby rolled her eye and started across the room.

I called the doctor on the telephone

Doctor, doctor

Said doctor, doctor, please

I, I, I

I got this feeling rocking and a'reeling

Tell me, what can it be

Is it some new disease?

Liby reached over Lisa's shoulder and yanked the cord out of the outlet. Lisa sat up, her features tightening in irritation. She whipped her glasses off and turned to Liby, her tongue prodding the inside of her bottom lip. "What are you doing, female nibling?"

Liby started to speak, but Lisa cut her off. "I do not appreciate interference with my discoteque."

Behind Liby, the parrot squawked. "In other words, don't screw with my disco. Squawk!"

The boogie loving scientist jabbed a stern finger at the bird. "I've warned you about providing translation out of turn, Renfield."

"Squawk, I just wanted to impress the pretty girl, squawk."

Lisa sighed and put her glasses back on, then looked up at Liby. "To what do I owe this unwanted interruption? I am in the middle of something of the utmost importance and -"

"I need help," Liby said plaintively. When you're Mystery Girl, you don't show your worry and fear, no matter how strong it may be. Unless, that it, it can benefit you. Lisa wasn't the most...heartfelt woman, but seeing the desperation in her niece's eyes made her face soften.

"What is the matter, Liby?" she asked soberly.

For a moment, Liby collected her thoughts. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lisa forestalled her. "I assume it has to do with the young Hispanic male you're holding captive in the basement."

Liby tensed.

"Bet'cha thought we didn't know, squawk."

Lisa shot the parrot a dirty look.

Should have known Lisa would find out somehow. She was a genius, after all.

Seeing the question in her eyes, Lisa explained. "I keep surplus supplies there...including socks. I descended theredown the day before yesterday and discovered him. I figured he was being restrained for a reason and left him. I meant to broach the subject with you but simply forgot. As I previously stated, I am currently in the middle of an intensive project that requires my full attention, which is why it slipped my mind."

Liby sighed. "Yes, it does have to do with him." She explained the situation, including her fight with Lacy and her idea. Lisa listened impassively, nodding here and there and humming when Liby brought up what she had in mind.

"I could do that," Lisa said, and turned back to her desk, "in fact I was working on a similar device just last month...it's around here somewhere. When would you like me to do it?"

"As soon as possible."

Twenty minutes later, Liby and Lisa stood in front of Hector; Lucy sat in a chair off to his side and spoon fed him oatmeal. He ate greedily, but winced after every bite. "I added salt," Lucy said, and the corners of her mouth twitched up, "lots of salt."

Lisa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her ample chest, which was pushed against her green turtleneck and the white lab coat she wore over it. "Yet I'm the sadistic one."

"No you're not," Lucy deadpanned.

Taking out her phone, Liby shot Lacy a text: Come to the basement. We need to talk. She slipped it into the pocket of her blazer and crossed her arms, her posture so similar to Lisa's that you wouldn't be able to tell one from the other if you were standing far enough away...and partially blind...and forgot your glasses on the table at Western Sizzlin again. Anxiety clawed at the lining of Liby's stomach as she waited for Lacy to reply; after last night, she half expected her to delete it unread.

Shame and remorse flowed through her like bitter wine, and she took a deep breath. She remembered the feeling of Lacy's nose crunching under her elbow, and her heart ached so hard she nearly doubled over.

Lucy dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it up. "Here comes the dick. Open up."

Hector blew a puff of air through his nostrils, but opened up anyway. Lucy thought she was sadistic for putting salt in his oatmeal, but Liby had her beat: She didn't even feed him. She gave him water, though. Can't piss on yourself - and thereby be degraded - on an empty bladder.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Liby perked up. Footsteps descended, and Lacy appeared, her head down and her hand trailing the bannister. Liby's heart squeezed as it always did when she saw Lacy, but this time the pressure was tighter, miserable. The younger girl looked up, and Liby swallowed hard: Her nose was pink and tender. Not broken, but definitely wounded.

I did that, Liby thought, and tears threatened to well in her eyes.

Lacy walked up and glanced around the room, her brow furrowing when she saw Lisa. "What's going on?" she asked, pointedly looking at Lucy and not Liby.

"I came up with a way we can let Hector go," Liby said, and Lacy turned to her; neither girl could meet the other's eyes. Behind Lacy, Hector's eyes lit up, and Lucy jammed the spoon into his mouth.

"You did?" Lacy asked incredulously. There was a challenging note in her voice that twisted in Liby's stomach like a knife

She nodded. "I did. It...it's a little complicated -"

"No it isn't," Lisa put in. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her wide hips. Everyone looked at her expectantly. "It's a simple matter, really." She gesture to Hector. "I surgically implant a tracking device into his cerebral matter and wire it to malfunction, thus killing him, if he comes too close to a second device. Think of it this way: A digital baby monitor uses the 2.4GHz frequency signal band. When it comes up against another device using the same frequency band and channel, interference happens. I can set a base unit here to the same band as the one in the tracking device, and if he comes within ten miles of it, his brain will explode."

The color drained from Hector's face.

"Wicked," Lucy breathed.

Lacy's brow furrowed and she looked at Liby. "This way we can let him go and not have to worry about him coming back," Liby said.

"Y-You can't do that," Hector stammered, "y-y-you'll kill me!"

"No I won't," Lisa said, "I've performed unsanctioned brain surgery on numerous occasions. In fact, I do it to unwind and relax after a stressful day."

Hector's mouth hung open...and Lucy filled it with oatmeal. "She's the best," Lucy said, "but you might die...if I got ahold of the base and switched it on before you left."

"If you touch it, Lucy, I'll see that your brain explodes as well." She looked at Liby and Lacy. "Prep him for the operation then bring him to my lab." She brushed between the two girls and went up the stairs in a white swish of coat. Liby and Lacy's eye met, but did not hold.

At this point, neither knew if they ever would again.

* * *

For a long time after making love, Gwen and Lemy laid on top of the covers, Lemy's arms around her and her body nestled into his. They held hands, neither speaking, both drowsing in the fading afterglow of their coupling. Gwen's legs were clamped firmly closed to keep as much of him in her as possible, but slowly his heat drained out and coated the insides of her thighs, where it cooled.

"I wanna ask you something," Lemy said at one point, starting Gwen from the hazy borderland of sleep. She was not the kind of girl who could fall asleep instantly - or even easily, for that matter - but she felt so warm and safe in his arms that she couldn't help but drift. It was his fault, really.

Humming sleepily, she shifted and snuggled closer. Any more and they'd become one - like Squidward and Spongebob that one time, an image that brought a tired smile to her lips. What are you doing with my leg, Freak? What am I doing with your hand? "What?" she asked.

There was a hesitation, and she was just beginning to think that he didn't hear her when he spoke. "Sometimes...when I look in your eyes, you...you look kinda...I dunno...sad. A-Are you sad?"

"No," she said, "I'm never sad when I'm with you."

Lemy didn't immediately reply, and Gwen found herself hoping that he wouldn't. "What about when you're not with me?"

She took a deep breath. Part of her wanted to tell him about her parents, and about her own feelings, but there was another part deeeep down that was afraid, even after the past six days, even after the religious experience masquerading as sex they had just shared, that if she did, he would think less of her...or even not want her anymore. She felt horrible for doubting him, but he was so precious that even the slightest possibility of losing him filled her with cold dread. She wanted to tell him, though; she wanted to share all of her secrets with him, and to hear all of his, but...right now she just couldn't. "Sometimes," she allowed, and that was as far as she was willing to go. "Do you?"

His hand squeezed hers and he nuzzled the back of her neck. "Always. I'm only really happy when I'm with you."

Warmth flooded her chest and a smile touched her lips. She turned in his arms and faced him. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and gazed deeply into her eyes. She was going to ask if he really meant that, but she didn't have to; he exuded it like a sweet fragrance...from his eyes, his fingertips, his lips, and definitely from his dick. "Me too," she said, then added, "when I'm with you."

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose; she winced. "That tickles."

"Yeah?" He did it again, and she drew away with a laugh. He responded by laying his hand on her stomach and digging his fingers into her soft flesh. She jumped and squealed.

"Cut it out, Freak!"

He tickled faster and she thrashed away, hitting the edge of the bed and starting to drop. Her heart leapt into her throat and her life flashed before her eyes (at least I was happy at the end…), but Lemy shot out his arm and caught her around the waist. "Sorry," he laughed.

She slapped his arm. "You almost killed me, Freak," she said.

"I didn't mean to," he said and drew her to him. "I just wanted to make you pee on yourself."

Gwen was shocked into laughter. "Really?"

Lemy shrugged.

"Wow. Do you have a fetish I should know about?"

She laid her hand on his stomach and rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes rolled up to his and a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He blushed, looked away, and seemed to think. Finally, he shook his head. "Not really, no."

"No?" she pressed. "Nothing?"

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "I-I mean, I guess, maybe, like, you know…"

Gwen laughed and patted his chest. "You're really cute when you stammer."

His blush deepened.

"Tell me a fantasy of yours and I'll tell you one of mine," she urged. Suddenly she very much wanted to hear what he desired...and wanted to be it for him.

He looked at her for a second, chewed his bottom lip in thought, then sighed. "I think it'd be kinda hot...you know...like …"

She smiled. "Come on, Freak. You can tell me." She ghosted her hand over the swell of his pubic mound and raked her fingers across the front of his pants. "You can tell me anything, Lemy," she said seriously.

He returned her smile. "Alright. I think it'd be hot, like, if you dressed up like a chick from the eighties."

Gwen's brow furrowed. "I don't know what they wore in the eighties." She grinned. "But I'll totally do it."

"Yeah?" he asked, a hopeful inflection in his voice.

"Yep," she said, "I'll do anything you want." She patted his chest. "Because I love you."

He smiled. "I love you too. What's your fantasy?"

Well, that was the thing: She had a couple. First and foremost was having sex with her father. That was a little specific, though, and she didn't know if she should bring it up. There were others, however. "Well," she started, "I think it would be really hot if, say, we were at a restaurant...and you were under the table...eating me."

He blinked.

"And everyone can see my face as I cum."

His jaw dropped, and for a moment she thought that she said something wrong. "That is pretty hot," he marveled.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It'd be really cool if you could sit on my dick, you know, without us getting caught."

Hm. That did sound hot. "We can try," she offered. "Right now, though, I need to go clean up. My thighs are all sticky" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, then stretched.

"We can take a shower," he said, "together. If you want."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Sure."

He got up and grabbed his clothes while she waited. When he was done, she followed him into the hall, and bumped into him when he stopped. She leaned to see around him, and her brows furrowed.

Of all the strange shit Lemy had seen in his house over the years, this took the cake: Liby and Lacy lead a Hispanic dude up the stairs, Liby behind him and shoving a gun into the small of his back. His hands were bound and a piece of duct tape covered his mouth. His face was cut and bruised, and his steps were shaky, unsure. Lucy followed behind Liby, a bullwhip in her hand. She looked at Lemy and Gwen, her face blank and expressionless. "You saw nothing," she said.

They watched the strange procession march down the hall and then up the steps to the third floor. When they were alone, they looked at each other. "You're family is weird," Gwen said.

"I was thinking the same thing," Lemy replied.

Gwen shook her head and led the way to the bathroom. The Louds were odd, but Gwen had always envied them, even before she really knew them. When Leia would talk about her parents and all her siblings, she felt a rush of jealousy; they seemed close, and happy, and she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a family like theirs...where your parents actually loved you and didn't say mean things to you, even if maybe you deserved it.

That line of thinking always led her back to her father: Where was he? What was he doing? What kind of person was he? Sometimes when Winston and her mother were arguing, she would sit by her window, stare up at the moon, and wonder if her father was also looking at it at that very moment. She could never be sure, but as she gazed upon its pallid face, she felt connected to him. He was under that same moon somewhere, under the same sky. And how she ached to be with him.

But that was mute now because she had Lemy, and she was so happy with him she felt like she could burst into a million pieces. Just as long as he kept loving her, she suspected, she would forget about her father and even her mother and stepfather; none of that would matter anymore because it would be a past life seen from the safety of a new life...one that centered around hers and Lemy's love for one another.

In the bathroom, Lemy shut and locked the door. Gwen pulled her sweater over her head and dropped it onto the closed toilet lid. He leaned against the door and watched her with a boyish grin. She cocked her hip playfully to one side and undid the top button of her shirt, then to the other side as she unfastened the second. "It's impolite to watch a girl get undressed, you know," she teased.

"I can turn around," he said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Gwen hummed and shook her head. "No. I like it when you watch me."

"So you're not into politeness, huh?"

She udid the next button, exposing the flesh of her chest. "Nope," she said.

"Good," he said with a lopsided smile, "neither am I." He unbuttoned his jeans, and Gwen paused to watch him pull them down. His member sprang out and her eyes widened.

He was hard again.

Rock hard.

"Really?" she asked and flicked her eyes to his.

He shrugged one shoulder. "You turn me on."

"I see that," she said. She undid the rest of the buttons and slipped out of the shirt, her pert breasts falling free. Next she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and pulled it down slowly, fabric scraping skin and sending goosebumps racing up her ams. It dropped around her ankles, and she stepped out of it, entirely naked now, her nipples hard and the hairs on the back of her neck standing up; she loved being nude in front of him, seeing the lust in his eyes, feeling his gaze softly caressing her body from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. When he looked at her, she felt beautiful - more than that, she was beautiful.

She went to him, laying on hand on his shoulder and wrapping the other around his length: It was warm and full and pulsed slightly under her touch. "You turn me on too." She pushed up on her tippy toes and kissed him. "Now let's take that shower."

* * *

Funky music drifted from a radio on a shelf, the soulful rhythm masking the beeps, boops, and hissing of a dozen different pieces of medical equipment: Heart monitor, brainwave reader, other, less nameable things that Liby suspected were of Lisa's own devising. Lisa, dressed in a foam green smock, the bottom half of her face covered by a white surgical mask and her brown hair tucked up under a green cap, bent over Hector's supine body and made a series of incisions across the top of his forehead with a scalpel. Lucy stood on the sidelines, also in a smock and mask.

Keep it comin' love

Keep it comin' love

Don't stop it now, don't stop it no

Don't stop it now, don't stop it

Liby hugged herself against the deep chill permeating the lab. She glanced around at the antiseptic surfaces, all chrome and gleaming metal like the some futuristic torture chamber...or the probing room of an alien spacecraft. Lacy was across the room, leaning against a long metal cabinet and watching with something approaching revulsion as Lisa removed the top of his skull with a wet sound, and sat it aside. Liby caught a flash of his pink, quivering brain before looking away, her stomach twisting and bile touching the back of her throat.

Don't let your well run dry

Don't stop it now

Don't give me no reasons why

Don't stop it now

Without looking up from her victim - err patient - Lisa held out one gloved hand to Lucy. "Scissors."

Scissors? What in the name of God did she need scissors for?

Lucy picked a pair of metal surgical scissors from a tray and slapped them into Lisa's palm. "I am reminded," Lisa said as she did something Liby didn't see, "of the time we played doctor when you were eight-years-old."

"What?" Lucy asked.

"Doctor," Lisa said. "When we were under the influence of the phermonal agent I created so that Lincoln - oh, I wiped your memory. I forgot."

"You did what?"

Lisa held out her hand. "Tracking device?"

Don't build me up just to let me drop

Don't stop it now

Don't turn me on just to turn me off

Don't stop it now

Liby went over and stood next to Lacy; Lacy tensed slightly, and Liby sighed sadly. It was almost like Lacy was afraid of her.

Which she probably was.

For a moment Liby stared straight ahead, then turned to her sister. "I'm really sorry about yesterday," she said, "I...I get a little crazy when I get overwhelmed, and I was overwhelmed."

At the table, Lisa's hand slipped. "Goddamn it," she hissed, "there goes his short term memory."

Lacy stared off into the distance, and Liby's heart ached. "Please forgive me, Lace."

"It's not just yesterday," Lacy sighed, "it's everything. I feel like I don't even know you."

Don't tell me there ain't no more

Don't stop it now

Don't turn me down and just close your door

Don't stop it now ooh

Keep it comin' love

Liby looked away. She started to speak, but stopped herself and collected her thoughts. She didn't want to admit this, but she had to if she wanted to make things right. "I'm scared," she said, and Lacy looked at her, brows furrowing. "I didn't anticipate this, and now I don't know what to expect. You know how much you mean to me, how much everyone means to me, and...I just went a little crazy."

For a long time Lacy regarded her with a tight-lipped, sad-eyed expression...then slipped her arm around Liby's shoulders. She didn't speak at once, but simply held Liby. Her mind flashed back to the basement, to the things Liby did, and a tingle raced down her spine. She was only doing what it took to protect them. It wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. Right? "I know," she finally said, "I'm scared too. I just...I don't like seeing that side of you."

"I'm sorry," Liby said again.

Lacy rested the side of her head against Liby's, and Liby snaked her arm around Lacy's waist. "After this," Liby said, "I'm retiring. It's not worth it anymore."

Keep it comin' love

Keep it comin' love

Don't stop it now, don't stop it no

Don't stop it now, don't stop it

"No," Lacy said, "it's not."

At the table, Lisa was replacing the top of Hector's head, and for right now, things were okay.

* * *

All good things must come to an end; Gwen left shortly before six and Lemy felt like a piece of himself went with her - a big piece, the best piece. Sitting on the couch between Loan and Lyra, shoulders slumped and gaze downcast, he was the picture of misery. He knew she had to go sometime, but, man, it was hard: They stood at the door just hugging each other for a good five minutes, not speaking, not kissing, just holding on. Having her in his arms felt...right, you know? Good. And letting go was the worst thing he ever had to do.

"You two are getting pretty close, huh?" Lyra asked easily. She was watching TV with her arms and legs crossed. She glanced at him and then back. He saw something like hope in her eyes; hope for what he didn't know, but he could guess.

"Yeah," he said. Something else started to slip, but he stopped himself...then went ahead and said it anyway because it was true. "I'm in love with her."

Lyra turned to him, her face lighting up. "Yeah? That far, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That far." He chuckled nervously. "Like all the way, I guess."

"That's great, dude, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." He felt like he should say something about them - him and Lyra - about his feelings. He loved her still, but with every moment he spent with Gwen, his feelings for his sister shrank. And you know what? He was okay with that. "I feel for her like I used to feel for you."

Lyra froze. Loan glanced over and looked Lemy up and down. "Finally grew the nuts to say it."

Lemy ignored her and looked down at his lap; his forearms rested on the tops of his legs and his hands were laced together. His heart raced and he felt kinda sick. Even though he was all about Gwen now, it was still hard and awkward, you know?

"T-That's good," Lyra said, "I...I was hoping you would." She shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "I love you, man, but not like that and I felt bad."

Nodding, Lemy drew a deep breath. "I know. It was my deal, I mean, I knew how it was, which is why I never said anything." He twiddled his thumbs. It felt like a chapter of his life was beginning to close, and while it was kinda scary, it was nice, too. He looked up at her, and their eyes met. Hs heart jagged and he looked away. "I still feel it when I look at you, but...it's different. Not as strong, you know? I used to think about you all the time, now I think about Gwen, so...I'm getting over it."

She frowned and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "You're a great guy, I just don't feel it, you know?"

He nodded. "I know. I get it. It's okay now, I'm really into Gwen. A lot."

"That's good," she said, "she's a lucky girl."

"Nah," he said, "I'm the lucky one." He thought for a moment. "I used to think that you and me were perfect, you know? Like...you get me. We like the same thing and..and all that. But that's surface stuff. With Gwen...I dunno, it's deeper."

Lyra nodded. "She kinda...she almost reminds me of you a little."

"Yeah, me too." He thought of the sadness he occasional glimpsed in her eyes, of her admitting that sometimes she was sad. When he said that he was sad too, he fibbed a little. I'm always sad when you're not here. That was true, but what he felt wasn't just that, it was more...stemming from his relationship with his father and from his innate feelings of isolation. He got the feeling that Gwen felt the same thing...maybe not coming from the same source, but the same feeling of alienation nonetheless. Like...you can be shot in your head or you can slam it on a cinderblock...two different causes but the same effect...a fucked up, hurting dome. She didn't want to talk about it, he guessed, kind of how he didn't really want to talk about his shit. Maybe it was dumb, but he was a little scared that if he sat her down and said I feel like I'm alone in the world and can't connect with other people she might think he was pathetic and leave him.

No, no, it was dumb, but emotions often are, aren't they?

"She really likes you, man," Lyra said and playfully nudged his arm with her elbow, "trust me, I'm a girl, I know things like that."

He smiled. "Yeah. I like her too. And I miss her already."

"Get married," Loan said.

Lemy started to say he'd been thinking on it, but decided against it.

After dinner, he went to his room, shut the door, and dropped into the chair. You ever hear that song Missing You from the eighties? This dude's talking about the girl who left him and saying I don't miss you, bitch in the chorus, but it's clear from everything else he says that he does. It didn't apply one hundred percent to him, but it was still playing in his head as he took out his weed. Maybe it did, actually, because dude was pretending to not miss his ex and Lemy pretended not to miss Gwen by, like, thinking of random shit (like eighties songs). It was his way of not thinking about her, you know? Of saying I ain't missin' you.

Or maybe he was full of shit. Who knows?

He sprinkled some grass onto a paper, licked the edges, and rolled it. He thought of Lyra and felt the familiar stir of longing in his chest. It was faint, though, and if he didn't focus on it, it didn't bother him. Not thinking of Gwen didn't help, though, because she was always there. I'll never be free...you'll always be a part of me Oh whoa ooh. That was another eighties song, he thought. A grin crept across his face as he picked up the lighter. People back then, man, I can relate to them, like...the songs talk about things I can identify with. These days it's smack my ho and let's eat cake by the ocean.

They don't write 'em like that anymore.

^ Another eighties song. Or maybe it was from the seventies. He couldn't remember. The point was he could reach into his head and there was always an old song for the occasion, someone singing his emotions and his thoughts. Maybe there were songs like that now and he was just familiar with the old stuff. Again, who knows?

He plopped the joint into his mouth, sparked it, and inhaled. We all like what we like, and that's just it. Take it or leave it. To paraphrase Stephen King: I write about monsters and shit, brah, and if you don't like it, all I can do is shrug...it's what I have.

And what I have is a love for old shit. New shit too, though, like...I couldn't actually go back to the eighties because Dude, your wifi sucks. Also, there's been some cool movies and songs since then, and it'd be kind of gay to have to wait around twenty or thirty years just to have access to them again. It -

Someone knocked on the door.

Oh. Of course.

"Come in."

The door opened and he glanced over his shoulder.

"Hey," Dad said, "I…" his smile fell. "Are you smoking pot?"

Aw, shit. Lemy assumed he knew; this wasn't the first time he'd burned in his room, and the smell doesn't exactly stay confined to one place. Sometimes the hallway smelled like 1967, and everyone commented on it. Guess Dad was too busy fucking his daughters to notice.

Typical.

Anyway...busted. "Yeah," Lemy said and glanced at the joint, "want some?"

Dad opened his mouth...then closed it again. "Sure."

Oh. I expected him to say no, lol. He held the joint out and Dad came over, taking it and sitting on the edge of the bed. He brought it to his lips, took a hit, and held it for a moment...then started coughing worse than Gwen, his face turning scarlet and his fist flying to his mouth. He bent and hacked like he just breathed mustard gas, and Lemy watched him with a bemused smile. "You alright?"

Dad waved his hand. It either meant I'm fine or heeeey. Lemy honestly couldn't tell which.

J/k.

"This is your first time, huh?"

Sitting up, his cheeks blood red and his eyes leaking, Dad shook his head. "No. It's just been awhile." He held the joint out, and Lemy took it. "You were a baby, I think. I didn't like how lazy it made me."

Lemy took a hit. "Did you do it in the middle of the day?"

Dad thought for a moment. "Usually," he said.

"Ah. That's why you do it at the end of the day. I'd be lazy too if I smoked at high noon." He took another drag and held it until his lungs were bursting, then let it out slowly, evenly, ignoring the tickle deep in his throat. This is how you do it, old man.

Dad nodded. "True." He patted his knees and looked awkward. Lemy watched him through a haze of smoke, feeling kind of awkward himself. What was it about this dude that women loved so much? I mean, look at him, he's goofy as all get out, fucking tan slacks and sweater vest like the father from Leave it to Beaver or some shit. He was gangly and just..fucking nerdy, man. But oh let's all jump on his disco stick. Woot woot.

You know what, though? Let 'em knock down his door. He had Gwen and...yeah, that was enough for him. Her and her alone.

Lemy took a third hit and held the joint out. Dad took it with a nod. "You wanted to see me about something, right?"

Dad took a rip and nodded slowly. This time he didn't cough. "I just wanted to hang out. Shoot the breeze a little."

Oh. Alright. Look, Lemy didn't hate his old man, he just kinda...resented him? And to be honest, he was hurt. You know, the whole I don't have time for you thing. And for Lizy and Lulu too. That kind of pissed him off. It's like if he can't smash he doesn't wanna do anything. "Okay," Lemy said and took the proffered joint.

"Yeah." His eyes darted nervously from Lemy to his lap and back again. "How's it going?"

Hit. Hold. Hbreathe out. Had to be alliterative there. Triple H, like the wrestler. Didn't he call himself The Game? Lol, that was probably Vince McMahon's decision. Because I play his ass like a game. LMAO! "I can't complain." Or maybe it was Vince Russo's idea. He had a track record of coming up with stupid names. Wasn't it him who named TNA? Because titties and ass, bro, lol. Dude had an eighth grade sese of humor. "You?"

"Good," Dad said. His eyes were pink and glassy now. "Everything's good."

"Nice," Lemy said and took a drag. He was over the rainbow and faraway (wasn't that from a song?), his brain swaddled in warm wool and his chest tingling like he just smoked a pipe full of Pop Rocks. Don't drink no Coke, son, you might wind up like Mikey from the cereal box. He handed the joint out to Dad, but Dad held up his hand. Heh. Lightweight.

"I was hoping we could do something," Dad said, "tomorrow or whenever you're free. I know you're spending a lot of time with that Gwen girl...and that's fine...just...I wanna…" he trailed off and glanced away. "I wanna be a better father."

The joint froze halfway to Lemy's lips, and his eyes rolled up to Dad. Uh...what did he say? Dad turned to him and were there tears in his eyes or was that the weed?

"I know I've been a fuck up," Dad said, "and it's my fault our relationship sucks. I don't want it to anymore."

Lemy took a puff and stared down at his feet. He searched his addled mind for a response, but couldn't come up with one. The closeset he got was, You're right. "You're fine."

"No, I'm not," Dad said, "I don't spend enough time with you, and I know that...that has to bother you. It bothers me."

Does it now? Ha. "Kind of," Lemy heard himself say.

Dad sighed. "I'm sorry. I never meant…"

Lemy cut him off, vaguely aware that something was bubbling up inside of him. "It's like because you can't fuck me you don't even want me around. Same thing with Lizy. You always have time for Lupa and Leia, but never any for us."

The words hung heavy in the air, thicker even than the smoke. Lemy couldn't see his old man's face, and he didn't want to. "You have to make time, you don't have to do that for Lyra or Liena. It's just naturally there." Pressure filled his chest and heat spread across his face. All of the hurt, pain, and anger was welling up; his carefully crafted dike was springing leaks left and right and it felt kind of good. "At least one day Lizy and Lulu are gonna grow up so you can fuck them. I'm not. I'm always fucking second best...ninth best...what the fuck ever it is and I FEEL LIKE GARBAGE!" Red hot rage exploded in his chest like a bomb, and he shot to his feet. Dad stared at him with a stupid wide-eyed expression. "Oh, I never fucking knew!" Lemy spat. "I had no fucking idea, man, poor me. I know it's your fucking birthday, let me drag your sister off to bed and happy birthday, son over my shoulder like you're a goddamn AFTERTHOUGHT!"

Dad flinched. "I-"

"Everyone fucking loves me! I'm Lincoln fucking Loud, look at my fucking log, everybody, come one come fucking all. Except you, Lemy, leave me alone so I can fuck my daughters!" He was shaking violently now. He threw the goddamn joint on the floor and stomped it into the carpet. "If I had a pussy you wouldn't be in here all stiff and awkward, man, let's shoot the fucking shit and make small talk. You'd be telling me how much you loved me and sniffing around my ass every fucking five minutes like you do WITH EVERYONE ELSE!" He jabbed an angry finger at the door.

Dad's face was white and drawn, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Yeah," Lemy nodded, his tone lowering, "you thought I didn't fuck notice or something, huh? You thought I just sat there and took it and didn't care. Well, I fucking do." He dropped onto the chair, his rage leaving him as suddenly as it came. He faced away from his father and blinked back tears of his own. "I do care and it fucking eats me up."

Then he was crying, his hand flying to his face and his shoulders hitching. "I know you dont care," he moaned, "just stop acting like you do. I'm used to it, man, I'm used to it."

He didn't realize Dad was next to him on his knee until he felt his hand on his shoulder. He turned, and Dad was crying too, his face twisted in misery. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I never k-knew I hurt you that bad."

No one ever does, Lemy thought but couldn't say through his sobs, one one ever does.

Dad cupped the back of Lemy's neck in his head and drew him close; Lemy resisted at first but gave in and allowed their foreheads to touch. "I'm so sorry," Dad whispered shakily, "I'm so sorry, Lemy."

Lemy cried harder.

"I love you," Dad said, "and I promise to show you that. You mean everything to me." He slipped his arms around his son's shoulders.

And for a long time, they simply held each other.


	10. All That Matters

**Lyrics to Remedy by Seether (2005)**

Early on the morning of October 31, Liby Loud sat a duffle bag on the surface of her desk and began to pack, starting with the heaviest equipment first: The HK416, then the grenade launcher, the MP5 submachine gun, and finally the plastic explosives, flashlights, and other miscellaneous stuff. She threw her tactical clothing - black and tight fitting - on top and zipped it up. She did this without turning on the light; Lacy was still curled up on her side asleep, and Liby didn't want to disturb her.

Done, she picked it up and carried it to the door, where she sat it next to the nightstand. She grabbed the other one from the closet, went over to the desk, and did the same, Lacy's gear identical to her own. Before she was done, however, her bowls clutched painfully and she felt like she was going to be sick.

Nerves. In just a few hours she and Lacy were leaving for Costa Rica and there was a very real possibility that one or both of them might not come back. She spent weeks on end telling herself that she could handle it - she was Mystery Girl, and she could take on anything - but deep down she knew that the odds were stacked against her, and as D-Day drew inexorably closer like an approaching buzzsaw, the terrors of death fell upon her, and she metaphorically prayed that this cup be taken from her lips. Like Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, however, she was cast on her own, left to face the coming day alone, without even her usual confidence to sustain her. She was anxious, paranoid, and scared; in the week since she captured and then released Hector, she began to doubt herself, and when you doubt yourself, you become overcautious. In the beginning, she wanted to spare as many of the partygoers as she could. But now, feeling weak and vulnerable, mere minutes, really, away from the largest operation of her life (and the first of her sister's), she was planning something that would probably kill a large number of them. It would be safer for her and Lacy, though, and that's what mattered. Right?

Only she didn't know. After hers and Lacy's argument, she started to ask herself questions...like was she really the Good Guy? She did sit a man down and torture him, and while she believed it was the right thing to do...God help her...she enjoyed it. And at the end, as she leveled a gun at his head, she felt nothing. Taking a step back in her mind, trying to see it as Lacy must have seen it, she was a little shocked by her own callousness. She was going to end another human being's life when she didn't have to. She could have gone to Lisa first, but she didn't even think to..she went to the most extreme option easily and without qualm.

Friedrich Nietzsche wrote: Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. For years, Liby had been trafficking with the worst humanity had to offer...the dogs among men...and when you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Somewhere in her battle against evil, she herself had become evil.

That disturbed her.

But sometimes, you need to be evil.

Presently she looked at Lacy; her eyes were closed and her brow pinched, her pale brown hair down and framing her face. She was so achingly beautiful, so angelic...and here she, Liby, was, plotting to bring her into the heart of darkness.

I can't do this on my own.

Was that the truth, though? Or was she making an excuse just to have Lacy with her?

Frowning, she thought long and hard.

No, she decided, she really couldn't do this alone. She might be Mystery Girl, but even Mystery Girl is not infallible or omnipotent. She needed Lacy.

Cramming the last few items into the bag, she carried it to the door and sat it next to hers, then she went out into the hall. In the bathroom, she stripped and got into the shower, but even the hot water couldn't melt the ice in her bones. She needed to get ahold of herself, because if she gave into fear, she and Lacy would die...Liby could stand that for herself...but not for Lacy.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that it was her Montoya wanted, no one else. If she really loved her family she would let him have her.

And she would...if she was stronger.

She bowed her head under the water and tried to shove those thoughts away. She needed to get it together. For Lacy.

When she was done, she dried off, wrapped the towel around herself, and brushed her hair in front of the mirror; her eyes were pooled with brooding darkness, and she did her best to avoid them. In her room, she dressed in a pair of black pants and a sleeveless white blouse, then sat at the desk and pulled her socks and shoes on. Faint orange light dripped through the window and the sound of birdsong pressed against the pane. She got up, went over to the bed, and knelt next to Lacy; she stared at her sister for a long time, her chest swelling with love. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from the sleeping girl's face; she couldn't help herself, she wanted, needed to touch her.

Muttering, Lacy stirred, and Liby caressed her cheek with the back of her hand. "I love you," Liby said softly.

The corners of Lacy's mouth turned up in a dream-like smile and her lips trembled as she silently replied. Liby leaned in and kissed her above her right eye, lingering and letting her warm scent fill her nose.

"I love you," she repeated.

"And I'm sorry."

* * *

The alarm woke Lemy at 7:45. It was Saturday, Gwen was coming over, and everything was right in the world.

Oh, wait, no it wasn't.

He slapped the OFF button, laid his hand on his chest, and fought to keep his eyelids from shutting again. So...that happened. Yeah. Just when things were starting to really go his way, ol' G-O-Double D throws him a curve ball and it hits him right in the nuts. As Vince Russo would say: SWERVE! Oh, he was swerved alright, so fucking swerved his backbone snapped into a million pieces, so swerved he looked like one of those blow up doll things you see at car dealerships and shit, you know, swaying back and forth. Put your hands in the air like you don't care...tell me what's the word, word up.

I got the cure for that swerveititus: Think about irrelevant shit. Dreamcast, always thinking, can't face the big stuff when you're facing the small shit.

Like...uh...Vince Russo, let's go back to him: He was in wrestling and since I watched that WWE pay-per-view with Lizy last night -

Too close!

\- I'll...go ahead and do a wrestling themed show. This guy worked as a writer for the WWE when it was the WWF and didn't WWSuck. Writer. Yeah. Come on, you know that shit's fake. It's...storylines and shit. You don't' think a man can really take steel chairs to the head for twenty years and no wind up looking like Sloth from The Goonies, do you? It's all a work...which means 'pretend, brah.' Russo had some dumbass ideas that somehow slipped through (he was the one who came up with the 'X on a pole' match, I think) but, hey, we all fuck up now and again, amirite? He left WWF at some point and went to the WCW. You know that episode of Spongebob where SB gets his cousin Stanly a job at the Chum Bucket, and two seconds after Stanly walks through the door KA-FUCKING-BOOM!? Yeah, that was WCW when Russo joined. They put him in charge and he fucked everything up. He put the World Heavyweight Championship on himself - this scrawny, pasty fuck probably couldn't even wear it (bro, this thing's heavy, bro); he...I dunno, man, he did a lot of wack ass shit.

One thing he did that was funny though was shoot on Hulk Hogan. In wrestling, a 'shoot' is something that's real and not scripted. Say you and I are wrestling in front of twenty thousand people. You botch a move and hurt my junk, so I really beat your head in. I just shot on your ass. At this PPV, Russo comes swaggering down to the ring, grabs a mic, and goes all Hogan, ya big, bald bitch, ya fired. He had this thick New York accent and sounded like an extra from a Martin Scorsese movie - you know, the weasley guy who gets strangled with piano wire two minutes in and everyone in the audience cheers because he was on their last nerve a minute fifty ago. Hogan wound up suing. See you in court, brotherrrrrrr.

Oh, and can't forget the time this black wrestler named Booker T was doing an interview with Mean Gene. This dude was talking trash and got carried away, said Hulk Hogan, we comin' for you, nigga! LMAO! The funny part was as soon as those words left his mouth, he whipped his head away like oh, shit, I fucked up...I fucked up bad.

Yeah, that was funny...I should probably stop avoiding what happened.

Anyway, there was this dude calling himself The Shockmaster. He wore a fucking Darth Vader mask covered in glitter or some shit. He was making his debut on live TV and had to crash through a wall backstage. Okay, he does...then he fucking trips and his gay hat comes off. You could see the shame in his eyes.

No, you couldn't, but you know he felt it.

Who was it...the blonde dude...he was doing an interview and messed up. He tried to have the interviewer start over, but "We're live, pal." LOL. God, man, that's gotta be embarrassing, you know, the kind of thing you think about right before you fall asleep even years later.

Lemy had some things like that. Everyone does, right?

One thing he'd be thinking about for a long, long time was -

You know, everyone knows wrestling is a con now, but back in the day...uh-uh, they kept that shit top secret. This one wrestler slapped the shit out of John Stossel for saying it was fake, and this other dude was in a plane crash and wrestled a week later with a broken back because I wasn't on that plane, brah, that plane was carrying my 'mortal enemy' Ric Flair, why would I travel with him? Fuck him. Stylin', profilin', limousine riding, jet flying, kiss-stealing, wheelin' n' dealin' HOMO. But nah, they were actually cool irl.

Sighing, Lemy glanced at the clock. 7:50. Gwen said she would be here at eight-thirty. That was forty minutes away. Four. Zero. Not long at all. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were grainy and ached because he didn't sleep well and his head dully ached. He tried, man, but...it just wasn't happening.

Getting up, he went over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans, and yanked them on, wobbling and nearly falling like his name was The Shockmaster and this was the biggest night of his career. How the hell could that dude wear a glittery fucking mask and not get called gay, but I ride a pink bike and look at him, guys, he's into dudes! Well...Shocky was a lumbering giant and he wasn't, but still. Kind of unfair, don't you think?

Darth Vader mask. Pfft. You know the mask they used in Halloween? It was a Captain Kirk mask they spray painted white. Crazy, huh? Speaking of Kirk, William Shatner, the guy who played him -

Lizy stuck her tongue down my throat last night, okay?

A shiver ran down his spine at the memory. Here's what what happened. Lizy wanted him to watch this PPV with her. Alright, fine, I'm not that into wrestling anymore (what am I, eleven?), but it's okay, and hanging with little sis is always fun.. Fine. Great. The thing started at nine and ended at midnight; by ten, they were alone in the living room and everyone else was...I dunno...doing their own shit. He was sitting with his elbow propped on the armrest and his face in his hand, and Lizy was sitting next to him, literally on the edge of her seat as two dudes kicked each other's asses in a steel cage. Hands balled in her lap, big eyes, the works.

"Look at him!" she said. "He's gushing blood everywhere!"

That's because he bladed, he didn't say. Anyway, long story short, she asked to sit on his lap. Sure, why not? She gets on and leans back against his chest, just sitting there, then she turns her head to him. Naturally, he turned to look at her too...their eyes met...and then she did it, man, she fucking spang forward like a goddamn cobra or something and smooshed her lips against his. He went rigid with shock, and his mouth parted just enough for her to jam her tongue in.

It took a second, but he recovered his senses and pushed her away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Kissing you," she said. Her eyes were big and doelike, and her brow was angled slightly down in confusion.

"Y-You don't kiss like that," he explained, consciously softening his tone.

"Why not?" she asked. "That's how you kiss someone you love."

Aw. Okay, that was cute, but this was serious. He started to say something, but trailed off. How did he...do this? Lizy was...you know, she grew up watching her sisters playing tonsil hockey with Dad left and right, and she saw him, Lemy, do it more than once with Leia. It was normalized, you know? "Well...that's how grown-ups kiss...and you're not a grown-up."

Lizy's eyes flicked to her lap. "I know," she said glumly, "I wanna be one, though...so we can do grown up stuff."

Lemy's jaw dropped. Sex...was like kissing...normalized, alright? Dad dd things with the others in front of God and everyone sometimes, and 'everyone' included Lizy. Still, her coming outright and saying...that...was pretty fucking unexpected. And pretty unwelcome, too. She looked up at him with those big, loving eyes, and...he didn't have the heart to say I don't want to do grown up stuff with you. So...he said, "Maybe one day. When you're older."

Her face lit up. "Okay!"

And that was that.

Only it wasn't. He laid awake for hours thinking about it. At one point in the past, he wondered to himself if he could ever...God, he couldn't even think the words fuck Lizy -

ARRGH!

\- and...he didn't think he could, he just didn't. But apparently she wanted to and...aw, man, it's a fucking mess in the making. She's six, though, and, you know, your tastes and shit change over the years. By the time she got to the point where she felt that need to breed and really came on, she might think dudes with long hair and headbands were gross. He hoped so, because...what if one day she got into him the way he was into Lyra? He was weak, okay, and he couldn't do that to her. If she turned up at his door wanting him, he'd give in, even if maybe he didn't want to. Loving someone who doesn't love you is a misery, bro.

Then again, in this family, love and sex are so entwined that it's hard to tell where sisterly love ends and romantic love begins. When she said someone you love she very well could have meant it strictly in a familial sense, in which case he'd only have to worry about her wanting his dick, which was bad enough but...that he could handle.

He thought.

Presently, he went into the bathroom, took a leak, then went downstairs. Lynn and Luan were sitting at the dining room table, each with a coffee mug in front of them, Luan in a yellow robe and Lynn in jeans and one of those shirts that's white but has colored sleeves - in her case red. She coached a girls' basketball team at the YMCA on Saturdays. It was her way of hanging onto sports, since she couldn't play it professionally.

"Morning, Lem," Luan said, "already having a hard day?"

Well, my six-year-old sister - wait, what? He glanced down, and his dick tented out the front of his pants. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even realize he had a raging case of morning wood. He blushed and covered it with his hands. "T-The denim's bunched up, it's not what it looks like."

Luan crossed her legs, propped her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in her palm. "It's exactly what it looks like," she said, a hungry glint in her eyes. She licked her lips. "Breakfast."

Oh, God, not her too.

Lynn stared at him over her shoulder, her lips scrunched to the side in thought. "What are you, thirteen?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

She nodded. "Not bad. Five? Five and a half?"

Huh? Thirt-

Oh, my dick size. Heh.

"Six,"" he said awkwardly, "uh, and then some. I think."

Lynn hummed. "Whip it out."

Lemy blinked. Really? "I, uh, I really can't because - "

"We know," Luan know, "Gwen." She leaned over the table, her hands splaying on the edge and her eyes flashing with lust. "We just wanna see it. That's all." Her smile sharpened, and Lemy was reminded of a shark or something...this was not the first time one of his female relatives put him in mind of a man eating predator, btw. He looked from her to Lynn, who stared at him with a go-on-we're-waiting expression.

No harm in showing them, right? It's not like they were going to pounce him and rape him right here in the dining room.

Right?

"Go on, Lemy," Luan urged.

"Yeah, dude," Lynn said, "we just wanna see how much you've grown."

Matching smirks ran across their lips, and Lemy's dick throbbed hotly. Okay. You wanna see it? Get ready: Here comes The Shockmaster. He reached into his pants, grabbed it, and pulled it out; it jutted over the waistband like a cannon out the window of a galleon. Lynn's eyebrows shot up, and Luan's mouth fell open in a salacious smile. "Oooh," she said and flicked her gaze between his dick and his face, "you are big."

"Guess Lola wasn't lying," Lynn said.

Lemy started to gri - wait, what?

"Lola told you?"

Luan nodded. "Umhm. And she told us that you want to stay loyal to Gwen. Which is really sweet."

"And really hot," Lynn added with a wink.

Luan licked her lips and stared at it, her pupils dilating. Alright, alright, you got your look. He shoved it back into his pants and hurried into the kitchen before they could strike...and yeah, he kinda had the feeling they might.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone until his father spoke. "Hey, Lemy."

Lemy looked up, and Dad was standing at the counter, a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon, and a box of pancake batter arranged around him.

Following their...talk...they had been spending more time together. On Tuesday they saw a movie, on Wednesday they went mini golfing (Lemy was bad but pops was waaaay worse), and yesterday they hung out and smoked weed again. He kind of felt like Dad was forcing it, you know? Like ugh, gotta go spend time with Lemy before he cries like a little girl again. It was nothing Dad did or said, it was just...probably his imagination. All the stuff he felt, you know, the hurt...that doesn't go away overnight, and maybe he was a little too guarded or something. But...you know...and this might be the biggest bitch thing he's ever said...he kind of enjoyed spending time with Dad.

Lemy glanced over his shoulder to make sure Lynn and Luan weren't going to grab him and drag him to their bed, then looked at Dad, whose brow was furrowed in puzzlement. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Lemy said, and crossed to the kitchen table, where he sat, "just...your sisters. They're like sharks or something."

Understanding dawned in Dad's eyes and he laughed. "Yes they are. When I was your age I'd make the mistake of coming out of my room with morning wood and next thing I knew I had nine horny girls dogpiling me in the hallway."

"That's just kinda what I did,' Lemy said.

"And you made it passed Lynn and Luan?" Dad asked, then whistled. "They're the worst ones."

They were? "I dunno, Lola was...you know…"

Dad reached for a pan in the cabinet above the sink. "She told me."

Remember what I said a while back about loose lips sinking ships? Yeah, well, the SS Lemy was sitting on the bottom of the fucking ocean and his face was red with embarrassment; he kinda hoped she wouldn't tell everyone about what happened.

Dad sat a skillet on the stove and grabbed a couple eggs from the carton. "She said that you didn't want to cheat on Gwen." He cracked one and the contents splashed into the pan with a sizzle.

"Yeah," Lemy admitted, "it...it just didn't feel right."

"If you feel that strongly for her, then...it shouldn't." He sat a second skillet on the stove and tossed a few strips of bacon in. Lemy was kind of expecting him to call him a bitch or something. I guess, you know, deep down, it was kind of like trying to live up to your father's standards or something, only in this case instead of playing football or taking over the family business, it was having a harem of your sisters and/or aunts. It made him feel inadequate...even though he really didn't want it. Strange, huh? The more he examined the contents of his heart and mind, the more he realized just how odd and complex he could be...how odd and complex people in general could be.

Presently Dad flipped the bacon with a fork. "She's coming over today, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I was hoping we could do something together. You know, just the three of us. I'd like to get to know her a little better."

The first thing that popped into Lemy's head was an image of them having a threesome, Gwen on her hands and knees with Dad behind her, hands on her hips, dick in her pussy. It literally made him sick, like...not because it was Dad but because it was Gwen.

Perhaps sensing this, Dad said, "We can go out to lunch or something. Whatever you guys want."

Oh, Mr. Loud, you're so much bigger and better than Lemy. Fuck me harder.

A hot flush crept across Lemy's face and a band of anger tightened around his chest. He knew he was being irrational - Gwen wouldn't do Dad and Dad wouldn't do Gwen - but he couldn't help it.

"We don't have to," Dad said and flipped the egg. He grabbed another and cracked it, "I know you guys probably wanna be alone and not have me hanging around." He laughed, and Lemy detected a hint of nervousness. Or thought he did. "Just..keep in mind that I'd like to know her since she's your girlfriend and she's important to you." He chuckled. "She might very well be my daughter-in-law one day."

Lemy's hand curled into a fist. We all know what Dad does to his daughters. Which is fine, because they were all single and wanted it, so whatever, but...I'm being weird, okay. "Sure," he said. "That'd be cool."

"Good," Dad said.

And how, pops, and how.

Just don't touch my girl.

* * *

Gwen woke early Saturday morning and spent the first two hours of her day sitting up in bed and paging through the scrapbook. It was thicker now, crammed with pictures of her and Lemy that she printed off her computer, and with his poems. She read and reread each one as the sun rose, his words warming her heart and making her smile so wide it literally hurt. There was a time, and very recently too, that she completed this ritual (and it had become a daily one) with a mixture of hope, sadness, and longing. That was when she didn't think it was real. Now, for better or worse, she did think it was real, and the only thing she felt was overwhelming happiness.

A happiness that was shattered when her mother's voice rose sharply in the hall. "Where are you?"

For a terrible moment, Gwen thought she was talking to her, but then she spoke again as if in reply to someone Gwen couldn't hear. "I should have known." Her voice was dripping with venom so bitter it turned the little girl's stomach. "Are you coming back?"

Gwen cocked her head and tried to listen over the crashing over her own heart. Mother laughed evilly. "Monday morning I'm filing for divorce, you fat queer. I'll take everything. Do you hear me? EVERYTHING!"

Divorce? Needling fingers of dread clutched Gwen's heart, and she tried to move but couldn't.

Mother's voice was farther away now, down the hall. She was pacing as she usually did when she was angry. "You're right I can have it all. Enjoy living in a motel with your BOYFRIEND!"

Did...did Winston leave? That's what it sounded like. A strange emotion filled Gwen's chest, part loss and part...relief?

"Well, that's one headache taken care of. Go back to taking it up your ass."

Gwen's stomach twisted as she imagined what the other headache was.

Angry footsteps pounded past the door, and for a terrible, heart-stopping second, she thought her mother was going to come in and yell at her, but the slamming of a door told her that she went into her own room instead. Whew.

She glanced at the book open in her lap, and her eyes fell upon Lemy's face.

Winston left.

Was it because of her? Did she do something wrong again?

She looked at Lemy's face again. The other day he told her: You're beautiful, Gwen, and perfect in every way. She smiled and kissed him, but deep down she doubted. He might see her that way, but she wasn't, and it hurt every single day. But lately, that pain wasn't quite as stinging as it once was. It was dull...because if Lemy thought she was perfect, well...that's all that really mattered. As long as he loved her, no one else had to. Not Winston, not her mother, not even her grandparents.

Still...she wanted to be perfect for Winston and her mother too.

Sometimes, though, no matter how hard you try, some people just don't want you to be perfect. No matter what you did, how hard you worked, how much sleep you lost, and how desperately you wanted to please them, they were never happy.

Maybe...maybe the problem wasn't her.

Maybe the problem was them.

That revelation, like a bright flash of light, made her blink. She looked down at the scrapbook once more, her brow furrowing in concentration. She tried to be perfect for Lemy, and from the look on his face and in his eyes, she succeeded. She tried to be perfect for her mother and Winston but failed. She did everything she could for them, she went out of her way and worried herself sick, yet it was never good enough. She cooked, cleaned, crept through her own home like a frightened shadow to avoid upsetting them, and how did they treat her? Like garbage, like a 'headache.'

Hot anger rose in her like stomach bile.

Fuck them.

Fuck them both.

Snapping the book closed, she jumped up and went to the closet, then to the door, then to her desk in a confused zig-zag pattern, her fists and jaw both clenched. They didn't matter anyway, only Lemy, because Lemy actually loved her and appreciated what she did for him. When she went to his house after school, she'd make him a sandwich or fold his laundry if his hamper was full of clean clothes. He never asked, she just did it because that's the kind of thing you do when you love someone, and he always kissed her and thanked her. No one else did.

Fine. Let Winston leave and let her mother drink herself to death. She'd see. You think mother kept the house? No, it was her, Gwen, the garbage girl, the headache, the failure. Well...no more. Let it all fall down, she was done doing things for people who hated her.

At the closet again, she grabbed a skirt and yanked it angrilly from the hanger, bending the metal. She dressed quickly, her body thrumming with energy. When she left the room, she didn't try to be quiet; she hoped she disturbed mother. Outside, the day was cold and overcast, windswept leaves skipping across the sidewalk with a dry scritch-scritch-scritch. Harvest and Halloween decorations fluttered in the breeze, and the warm smell of wood smoke drifted from a fire somewhere.

Gwen was dead to it all. Years of repressed anger coursed through her veins like battery acid.

Throw your dollar bills and leave your thrills all here with me

And speak but don't pretend I won't defend you anymore you see

It aches in every bone, I'll die alone, but not for you

She wanted so bad to be a good daughter but they WOULDN'T FUCKING LET HER. She tried everything EVERYTHING and they both hated her regardless.

Sneering, she lashed out and kicked a rock out of her way.

My eyes don't need to see that ugly thing, I know it's me you fear

If you want me hold me back

How many nights did she spend lying awake CRYING because she wanted to be good so fucking BAD and KNOWING she couldn't? How many mornings did she walk to school, sick with nerves trying to pick out what she did to make Winston mad that day? Too many. TOO FUCKING MANY.

I don't need a friend, I need to mend so far away

So come sit by the fire and play a while, but you can't stay too long

It aches in every bone, I'll die alone, but not for pleasure

I see my heart explode, it's been eroded by the weather here

If you want me hold me back

She was shaking with barely contained wrath. She punched the air, realizing vaguely that an old woman walking her dog was looking at her strangely but not caring. The problem wasn't her, the problem was them. Winston was unhappy because of mother and mother was a fucking alcoholic who could barely drag herself out of bed most days. She laid there like a fucking cancerous growth and sucked Vodka from a bottle like a big, drunken, overgrown baby. Oh, Gwen did THIS wrong and THAT wrong. What did she do? Nothing! That's what! NOTHING!

Frail, the skin is dry and pale, the pain will never fail

And so we go back to the remedy

Clip the wings that get you high, just leave them where they lie

And tell yourself, "You'll be the death of me"

Tears fell down her cheeks like cleansing rain. Her chest ached with hatred and disgust, but no longer sadness or longing. She didn't need Winston or her mother. She didn't need their love or approval. She didn't even need her deadbeat piece of shit "FATHER". She had Lemy now.

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was a block away from Franklin now, and couldn't remember how she got here. It didn't feel like she'd been walking that long, but times flies when you're consumed and raging. Her mother didn't love her and her father didn't love her, or else he would be here. Well...she didn't love them anymore either. The could both die.

At the intersection she paused and waited for an orange and white U-Haul to pass. A gust of wind caught her hair and blew it into her face. She tucked it behind her ear and crossed, reaching the other side and starting down Franklin. Foam headstones dotted front lawns while plastic skeletons and fake spider webs stirred in trees. She had her costume ready for tonight at home; she and Lemy were going to a haunted house set up at the fire station on Redwood. He was dressing as 'the dude from Poison' and she was...a surprise.

A warm smile touched her face, and the rage that had carried her here departed like a swift wind. Her step lightened and her face unclenched. By the time she knocked on the front door of 1216 five minutes later, that morning, and everything that went into it, was a distant memory. She was happy now, and that's all that mattered.

Muffled footsteps approached from inside, and the door opened. Gwen smiled brightly...then her face fell just a tick. She was expecting Lemy, but got Lupa instead. The white haired girl crossed one arm over her chest and cupped the opposite elbow in her palm. Plucking the cigarette from between her thin lips, he held it between the fore and middle finger of her right hand. Something about her had always intimidated Gwen. All of Lemy's sisters did that to him (they were her boyfriend's family, after all), but that went double for this one.

Brows lifted slightly, Lupa stared down her nose as though Gwen were something repulsive and not entirely welcome. Gwen felt the urge to squirm but held it in check; it was kind of important to make a good impression and acting like a scared little girl probably wouldn't help.

Lupa took a drag and blew out a pencil line plume of bluish smoke. "Back again," she said.

Gwen nodded, fighting hard to meet the older girl in the eyes but failing. "Y-Yeah. I'm back."

"Hm. You really like Lemy, don't you?"

Well...duh. Didn't she see them cuddling on the couch every single afternoon? You don't cuddle with someone you don't like. Or maybe some people do. Who knows? The world is a strange place and human beings are strange creatures. Was she...testing her somehow? "Yes," she said, "I like Lemy a lot."

Nodding, Lupa took another hit and blew it out. "Good. I like him too. Not like you like him, but he's a cool guy and he really likes you, so...don't fuck him over."

Gwen blinked. Fuck him over? Like...break his heart? No! God, she'd rather jump in front of a bus then hurt Lemy. Lemy meant the world to her...he was her world. He was the only thing in her life that mattered. She couldn't hurt him any more than she could hurt herself.

Lupa watched her with expectant eyes.

"I would never hurt him," Gwen vowed.

For a moment Lupa simply stared at her, then stepped aside. "Alright. Come in. He's helping Dad with breakfast."

Gwen hesitated, then went through the door, the smell of bacon and eggs drifting to her nose and making her stomach rumble. Guess I'm hungry. Loan was on the couch like always, playing a video game and looking like she hadn't been to bed yet. Liena was sitting between her and Lyra, and as Gwen passed by, they both looked up at her. "Hi, Lemy's girlfriend," Liena said. She was apparently the Boss Sibling (kind of like an overseer on a plantation, Gwen thought), but she was really bad with forgetting things...like names.

"Hi," Gwen said awkwardly.

"Hey, how's it going?" Lyra asked, her tone just as friendly as her sister's.

In the beginning, she envied Lyra so much it made her literally sick; Lemy loved her, and seeing her have something so precious, something she herself ached to have, made her hate her guts. The worst part? Lyra had this beautiful gift...and she didn't even want it. The first analogy that came to Gwen's mind two Saturdays ago, after the day at the mall, was starving to death while watching someone else have food...and throwing it away. If only he'd love me instead, she thought with such sharp longing she cried, I'd love him back the way he deserves to be loved. She still didn't particularly...like (?) her, but Lemy loved her now and that's all that mattered.

Did he still love Lyra too?

She didn't know, and part of her didn't want to know.

If he was...she didn't mind sharing. Well...maybe a little, but she would.

"Good," she forced, "you?"

"Pretty good," Lyra nodded, "pretty good."

"Good."

Before Lyra could say anything else, Gwen went into the dining room, where Luan, Lynn, and Luna sat at the table, Luna at the head and one sister on either side. They glanced at her, and she felt a rush of nerves. Luna intimidated her much like Lupa did: Luna was Lemy's mother after all, and if you're not a little on edge around your boyfriend's mom (at least early on), do you really like him? Do you really?

Luna glanced up, and a sly smile crossed her lips. Lynn and Luan turned their heads, and both women's brows raised slightly.

"Lemy," Luna called in a singsong voice.

"Yeah, Mom?" he replied from the kitchen, and the sound of his voice made Gwen's heart jolt.

"Come here."

A moment later, he emerged from the kitchen, his eyes directed at his mother. Luna nodded toward Gwen, and Lemy turned, his face lighting up. Gwen smiled. "Hey, Freak," she said.

"Hey," he replied happily as he came over. He put his arms around her and they kissed chastely, their lips touching and the tips of their noses brushing. Gwen felt like she was going to melt, but kept herself together; she didn't want to wind up a stain on the dining room carpet cursed to forever be trod upon by Louds.

He drew back and she took his hands. "I'm early, I think," she said, "sorry."

"I'm not," he said, and Gwen giggled. "Breakfast will be done in, like, five minutes. I just gotta finish the toast."

"Okay," she said.

While he went to do that, she sat at the table, purposely leaving a space between her and Lynn. She was aware of all three women looking at her, and tried hard to keep her gaze straight.

"What do you do for fun?" Luna asked.

The question caught her of guard. "I draw sometimes," she said and stole a glance at the woman. She wracked her brain for something else, but couldn't come up with anything. Before Lemy, the only thing she did outside of school was either hanging out with Leia and Marsha or sitting in her room wishing she was a better daughter. "That's pretty much it, I guess. I'm boring."

Luna shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. Luan's pretty boring too and she does okay."

Lynn snickered and Luan shot her older sister a dirty look. "I'm not boring," she said.

"Yes you are," Lynn said. "And your jokes suck."

"Like your coaching?" Luan shot back.

Gwen's heart started to race. They were going to argue, just like Winston and mother, and she was going to be caught in the middle.

"Like you on your knees begging for a spot at the comedy club. Please, Mr. Johnson, gag, I won't bomb this time, slurp, I swear., guzzle."

Luna laughed so hard she hitched, and Luan's face turned bright red. Gwen's stomach twisted, and every fight her parents had ever had came back to her in a rush.

"At least I didn't peak in high school," Luan retorted.

Lynn started to reply, but Luna cut her off. "You're both losers." She looked at Gwen. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Gwen shook her head. "No." She didn't know, honestly, because maybe her Dad had other kids, but even if so, they didn't count. "Just me.'

"You're lucky," Luna said, "sisters are a pain in the ass."

Lynn blew a raspberry. "Yeah, especially when they play their guitar all the time."

"Poorly," Luan added.

"And ruin everyone's first concert"

"And talk in an annoying British accent," Luan said. She crossed her eyes. "Pip, pip cheerio, love, I'm so into England I fucked a fat guy name Chunk just because he was British."

Gwen's eyes darted between Luna and Luan. "I didn't fuck him because he was British," Luna laughed, "I fucked him because I was drunk and horny and Lincoln was fucking Lori. Who else was I gonna fuck? Dad?"

"Lynn fucked Dad," Luan said.

"Once," Lynn said. "He blew his load after ten seconds and cried for half an hour because I'm a pervert wah-wah-wah."

"He did the same thing to Leni," Luna said, "only with her he came as soon as she touched it. He curled up on the floor and cried like a woman. I'm sorry, I can't control myself!"

All three laughed uproariously.

Later, everyone gathered at the table; there weren't enough chairs for Gwen to have her own, but that was okay with her, she was more than happy to sit in Lemy's lap, his arm around her waist and hers around his shoulders. She didn't feed him this time, which she didn't mind, because she was pretty hungry and didn't want to have to alternate bites.

"So," Loan said at one point, her eyes narrowed over her fork, "do you live here now?"

Gwen's stomach lurched - what did I do to make her mad?

"So what if she does," Lemy said.

Loan started to reply, but her father cut her off. "So, Gwen, what do your parents do for work?" He forked a piece of egg into his mouth and stared in her direction but not at her. As far as she could remember, this was the first time he had ever spoken to her. Like Lyra, she didn't like him in the beginning because he and Lemy didn't really get along, but Lemy said they had a talk and were working on their relationship, so she really didn't have a reason to not like him anymore, she supposed. Though to be honest he kind of gave her the creeps.

"My stepfather is the CFO for Intelliprise," she said, "and my m-mother doesn't work."

Lincoln hummed appreciatively. "He must make good money."

"Yeah, I guess," Gwen said and carved off a piece of egg with her fork.

Across the table, Loan sneered. "Little Miss Rich Bitch."

Gwen's hand froze and her heart crashed wildly.

Lincoln turned to Loan, a stern expression on his face. "Knock it off." He looked at Gwen. "Ignore her, she gets nervous around people she doesn't know, and when she gets nervous, she gets mean. And when she gets mean, her video games get taken away."

Loan stared down at her plate like a scolded dog, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Inexplicable tears filled Gwen's eyes and she glanced down at her own breakfast. No, that wasn't it; she just didn't like her. Most people didn't. "M-Maybe I should go."

"No, no," Lincoln said quickly. "Really, it's fine."

Lemy hugged her close.

"If anyone's going it should be Loan," Leia said, "because at least you don't smell like armpits and dirty feet."

Loan growled and stabbed a piece of egg with her fork.

"Don't go," Lemy said and stroked her back, "really, she doesn't mean it. She's just fucked up in her head."

Loan whipped her head up, her eyes burning with furry. "You're fucked up," she said, then turned to Leia, "you're fucked up." Liena. "You're fucked up." Luan. "You're fucked up." Lyra. "And you...you're fucked up too."

Lincoln pursed his lips. "Loan, go to your room."

"My room is fucked up."

Lincoln shot her a withering glance. For a moment they stared at each other, then Loan got up and left the dining room, her fists clenched and her shoulders tensed. When she was gone, Luna snorted. "I think she forgot her meds."

"I do too," Lincoln said with a sigh.

Whether Loan forgot her meds or not, Gwen was suddenly not hungry anymore. Lemy wrapped both of his arms around her and kissed her back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said quickly, even though she wasn't, "are you almost done? I need to cuddle."

"Let's go," he said and got to his feet. Gwen felt everyone watching her as they left the room, but she didn't care, and once she was nestled in his arms, everything was right in the world again.


	11. Perfect

**Lyrics to I'll Never Let You Go by Steelheart (1990)**

The time had come at last: Liby read the text and looked out her bedroom window, her eyes instantly finding the black SUV parked at the curb. She swallowed a rush of anxiety and glanced over her shoulder at Lacy, who on the bed, her back against the headboard and her knees drawn up. She wore jeans and a red long sleeved shirt with a white 2 across the front; her chocolate milk hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her eyes were pointed at the screen of her phone.

"He's here," Liby said, and Lacy looked up. A shadow seemed to ripple across her face, then it was gone and she was getting up. Liby texted back then shoved the phone into her pants pocket. Lacy grabbed her bag and hefted it over her shoulder with a strained grunt.

They had been waiting here for nearly two hours, both wracked with nerves and rarely speaking. When they did, it was about nothing of import, nothing pertaining to what they were about to do or where they were about to go. Liby passed most of the time writing in a black and white marble composition notebook that she reserved for Mystery Girl, LTD use only. In it were supply lists, financial equations, and now, at the very end, a page headed LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. She had just over 150,000 dollars in an offshore bank account that she never touched; in the event that she didn't make it back, she wanted it split evenly, to the cent, among her surviving relatives. She also wanted the business liquidated. She'd already taken steps in that direction, but as of right now, it was still official, and still taxable.

She wrote this coolly, dispassionately. She had come to terms with the possibility of her own death as much as one can. Her worry was primarily for Lacy. When she was done, she closed the book and left it on the desk. Presently, she opened it, ripped out a sheet of paper, and scrawled a note, which she left on the middle of the bed. Lacy stood by the door, watching. Liby grabbed her back, slung it over her shoulder, and forced a smile. "Ready?"

Lacy nodded. "Yep." Her dark eyes and wan face said otherwise, and Liby's heart broke. She put her hand on the younger girl's shoulder and squeezed.

"It's gonna be okay," she said, "we got this." She leaned in and kissed Lacy's cheek, her lips lingering on her warm skin.

Lacy ran her fingers through Liby's hair and kissed her cheek in return. "I know," she said, "you're the best there is."

That made Liby smile. I hope so...I really do.

She pulled away, caressed Lacy's cheek with the back of her hand, then started into the hall. "Come on."

It was early afternoon, and everyone was engaged in their characteristic Saturday activities: Lupa drawing and chain smoking, Lyra tuning her guitar, Lizy playing with her toy dinosaur, Leia scheming to make money, and Lemy and Gwen behind closed doors, do God only knows what. A lump welled in Liby's throat as she descended the stairs. This could very well be the last time she would ever see her family, and the prospect made her feel like she was going to puke. She swallowed thickly and her step faltered ever so slightly. The desire to go to each one of them, hug them, and kiss their cheek overcame her, but she didn't think she could, for if she did, she would lose her nerve and stay.

At the bottom she brushed a tear from her cheek and went to the door. Loan was playing one of her games and Liena was picking toys up from the floor. The coffee table was covered in empty chip bags, cans of Mountain Dew, and candy wrappers, and standing to her full height, Liena glared at it. "You should really be more clean," she said, "you're, like, a pig and I'm totes sick of it."

"I'm sick of you thinking you're my boss," Loan grumbled, "I'm older than you."

Liena put her hands on her hips. "You, like, don't act like it."

A sad smile ran across Liby's lips. Loan and Liena were always going at it. Liena was two years younger, but the more responsible of the two, and it had always fallen to her to mind the others, a fact that Loan resented even though she herself admitted that she was in no condition 'to play everyone's goddamn mother.'

They were both so absorbed in their bickering that neither noticed Lacy and Liby slipping out the front door.

On the porch, a cold gust of wind washed over them, and Lacy shuddered. The day started bright but now the sky was the color of dirty dishwater and the smell of coming rain seasoned the chilly air. A group of kids in costumes and carrying bags passed on the sidewalk, watched over by a woman in a pair of yoga pants, fur-lined Uggs, and a puffy blue jacket. Her eyes went to the SUV, waiting like a hearse, exhaust rising from the back like smoke from a crematorium. Liby paused at the head of the steps, icy fingers of dread clawing at the edges of her heart. A pang of dread rippled through her stomach, and she turned to Lacy, her resolve crumbling like archaic masonry. "Stay here," she said.

Lacy's brow furrowed.

"I don't want you coming," Liby said, "I can do this on my own."

Lacy's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Really, I don't need you, stay here."

A breeze ruffled Lacy's hair as she took a deep breath. "I'm not letting you do this alone," she said at length, "so don't even try."

Children ran laughingly down the sidewalk, their merriment mocking, grotesque. Liby stared into her sister's determined eyes, and therein she saw that no matter what she did, Lacy was going to come with her. She would do the same.

"Please?" Liby asked, a beseeching note in her voice that normally would have shamed her. Now it didn't. "I-I don't want you getting hurt." Stinging tears welled in her eyes. "I can do it. I really can." The last word came out in a breathless whisper. Lacy's face was a wet blur seen through water, and Liby bit down on her bottom lip to keep from breaking down completely.

Lacy took her in her arms and pulled her into a tight, loving embrace. "We're in this together," she said, "I'm not leaving you, Liby. I love you."

Liby buried her face in the crook of Lacy's neck, her warm, comforting scent filling her nose and soothing her like the sweetest catharsis. She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her lover's hips. "I love you too," she croaked. "I love you so much."

For a moment, neither spoke, neither moved, they simply held each other, then Lacy pulled back. "Let's go," she said. "The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can come back and get on with our lives." She smiled tightly, and Liby nodded; a loose strand of hair fell across her forehead and she tucked it behind her ear. Lacy was right. She needed to get ahold of herself.

"Alright," she said.

She went down the stairs and Lacy followed, their footfalls echoing hollowly on the concrete. At the SUV, Liby opened the back door and threw her bag in, then took Lacy's and did the same. She stepped up onto the running board and cast one last, longing look at the house - 1216 Franklin Avenue. It wasn't pretty….the porch roof sagged, the siding was coated with grime, and loose shingles peeled back from the roof like dead skin...but it was home, and she loved it so fiercely in that moment that she silently vowed to never leave if she survived the assault on Montoya's mansion.

Sighing, she climbed in and scooted across the leather bench seat. Lacy followed and pulled the door closed behind her. The driver turned and regarded them with a neutral expression. His face was crisscrossed with scars, his nose was crooked from one too many blows, and his eyes were hidden behind a thick pair of sunglasses. The SUV was a large vehicle, but he still managed to look cramped: He was seven feet tall and broad shouldered, his muscular arms straining against the fabric of his black suit coat.

His name was Ivan, codename Emma. He was Russian and was the kind of guy you called when you wanted to see Rambo acted out in real life. Some would call him a double agent, but that wasn't exactly right: He sold his services to the highest bidder...the CIA, MI5, Mossad, ISIS. Liby met him when she was charged with liberating him from a prison camp in Pakistan. She arrived just as he strode through the main gate, backlit by a giant explosion. "Guess you didn't need me," she remarked.

"No," he said in that thick accent of his, "I didn't."

They became fairly close on the week long trek through the desert to the extraction point in Afghanistan, which is why he agreed to drive her to Deadham Field, a covert and technically illegal CIA airfield near Detroit. Usually, he didn't shift unless someone needed a minimum of three heads cracked.

Presently, he nodded, and Liby nodded back, then glanced at Lacy. Lacy smiled and took her hand, their fingers weaving together. She turned to Ivan, who watched them with a nothing expression. "We're ready," she said.

* * *

Gwen got home shortly before five that afternoon; she left Lemy (reluctantly) at two-thirty because she had something to do...something involving her costume.

A perm...she had to get a perm. Her hair, normally straight, was a stiff, teased-out mess, and as she walked away from the beauty parlor, she was so self-conscious she couldn't bring herself to look at anything but her own feet.

Last week, Lemy said he thought it would be hot if she dressed up like a chick from the eighties. She had no clue what women in the eighties looked like, so she did some research, and what she found was a brow-raising confusion of big hair, make-up, and mismatched clothing in bright, Dayglo colors. And that was just the men. The women wore the same, but with bows, skirts over jeans, lacy gloves, and big hoop earrings. She personally thought eighties women were tacky, but Lemy liked them, so tonight, she was, uh, going to totally be a rad Valley Girl type thing.

Gag me with a spoon.

She really didn't mind. As long as he thought she was pretty, she could wear a flour sack and tissue boxes on her feet.

When she reached the house, she found it dark and silent, but the tense atmosphere told her that mother was indeed there, ill-feelings radiating from her like cold from a block of ice. Gwen's light mood sank, and she dragged herself up the stairs on plodding feet, pausing at her door and cocking her head to listen: Mother's door stood open and the sounds of the television drifted forth. If mother knew she had returned, she made no sign.

She probably didn't even notice she left in the first place. But why would she? She didn't care about her.

Gwen's teeth clenched as rage rose in her chest like superheated steam. Her hand tightened on the knob, and for a moment she glared down the hall, then pushed the door open and went inside, closing it behind her. It didn't matter, she told herself as she crossed to the closet. She didn't need her mother, she didn't need her father, she didn't need anyone but Lemy, the only one whoever loved her, the only one who didn't treat her like she was either invisible or a piece of dirt. Only deep, deep down...it did matter. It did matter that her mother hated her, it did matter that the very woman who gave birth to her didn't care whether she came or went, lived or died.

After all...when you couldn't trust your own mother to love you, who could you trust?

She took the pieces of her costume from the closet and laid them out on the bed, tears welling in her eyes. Who can you trust? Lemy? She sighed and blinked. Yes, she decided, she could. Oh, there were misgivings, there always were and probably always would be thanks to her stupid mother, but she could see and feel his love for her, and...and she needed someone to trust. For better or worse. Human beings need love as surely as plants need the warm light of the sun; without it, their hearts wilt and die. For eleven years, Gwen's heart had been slowly starving to death. Now it wasn't. Once she was cold, now she wasn't. She never knew it was possible to feel like this, and she would do anything to hold onto it.

Sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith even if it scares you. She was secretly terrified that one day Lemy would stop loving her, that she would do something wrong and screw it up. An evil little voice inside her head told her to pull away, to flee him before he could hurt her the way everyone else had. She wasn't going to listen, though; she knew he could hurt her, devastated her even, but she was taking that leap of faith like a woman jumping from a burning building and onto one of those inflatable pad things the fire department uses because if she didn't, her heart would wither and die. She would wither and die.

Putting her hands on her hips, she looked at the clothing before her. Black leggings, a short denim skirt she sliced here and there with a razor, then washed to give it that white-pieces-of-thread-poking-out look that was apparently really popular in the eighties, a sleeveless shirt with a pink and black pattern that she'd never seen before (it looked kind of like leopard print but with squares and triangles thrown in for diversity), a denim jacket, and a hair bow. She spent days sifting through the thrift shops and junk stores of Royal Woods, assembling her costume piecemeal, one garment here, another there, her phone in her hand and on Google Images: EIGHTIES WOMEN CLOTHES. Once she had it all together and tried it on for the first time, she laughed at her reflection in the mirror, partly because she thought she looked dumb, but also because Lemy was going to love this.

She hoped.

Presently, she got undressed and pulled the leggings on; the were tight on her thighs and pretty uncomfortable: She was used to the freedom and flexibility of a skirt. Next came the jean skirt. It, too, was tight; the bad thing about thrift stores is that sometimes, everything is either too big or too small, and you had to make do with what you had or go without. This was a lesson she learned long ago - she bought clothes with her own money since her mother wouldn't, and sometimes she went to the Goodwill or Salvation Army so she wouldn't have to spend everything she had. At first she was ashamed, but she quickly got over it when she realized that a lot of the clothes there were nice...a lot of it never worn, with the tags to prove it.

She left the jacket and took the bow into the bathroom, where she carefully applied make-up from a kit that she rarely used: Eyeliner, lipstick, and a touch of rouge to her cheeks. After a moment of debate, she used the eyeliner pen to make a little mole above the right corner of her mouth like that singer..what was her name? She couldn't remember, but she saw her picture online and thought she was cute. Not like that other singer. The one with the red hair. She did that song...Girls Have Fun or something. Gwen thought she was ugly.

Done with that, she took a pick in one hand and a can of hairspray in the other, and proceeded to tease her hair until it was as big as she could get it, turning left, right, front, and back to make sure it was even.

She certainly looked like she was from the eighties.

She really hoped Lemy liked it.

Putting the make-up away, she turned out the light and left the bathroom. In the time it took her to get ready, the sun had largely set and the only light in the hall was the blue TV glow spilling from her mother's room. She passed by with a rush of dread, but mother didn't stop her, didn't call out to her, didn't care. Usually Gwen was happy when her mother didn't notice her, but for some reason, now it really bothered her.

In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes on.

Dead. Her mother might as well be dead.

Getting to her feet, she grabbed the jacket, slipped it on, and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She left the room and started down the hall, but something stopped her.

It would only be right to tell her mother she was going.

Her heart clutched and her stomach rolled, but for some reason, she found herself walking to her mother's room, partly dragged, partly pushed. At the door she paused: Mother sat up in bed with the covers pooled in her lap, a bottle of Vodka on the nightstand and her arms crossed sternly over her chest. Her wrinkled face was set in a perpetual glare, and the light of the TV flickered in her eyes like cold fire. Gwen's heart started to race. What was she doing? She should just turn around and go. Mother didn't care if she went...or came back...and never had.

Yet deep down...she felt something stirring, something akin to hope.

"Mother?" she asked. The word felt strange on her lips as it always did. Not as strange as 'mom' though; she'd never been able to bring herself to use that one. It was too warm...too personal.

Mother glanced away from the TV, her thin brow angling down in a shallow-edged V. "What?" she asked sharply.

That one single word went through Gwen like poison and her stomach churned sickly. "I-I'm going out," she said.

"Good," Mother replied and turned away.

Good.

Go.

I don't want you here.

Tears welled in Gwen's eyes. "I-I might be late," she said, "really late."

She may not have known why she came to her mother at first, but she knew then; she wanted her to care. She wanted it so badly that, in this moment, she would gladly sacrifice the night with Lemy if mother would just care. No, stay here, we can play a game and order pizza...then we can snuggle on the couch and watch a movie. It was a pipe dream...but she longed for it so badly it hurt.

"Do whatever you want," Mother said. Her face was wan and sharp in the electric flicker, her thin lips pursed and shadows filling the crags of her features.

Tears fell down Gwen's cheeks.

She didn't care.

She never would.

She didn't want her. Gwen spent her entire life wanting a relationship with her, aching to touch her and hug her and do things with her...normal, simple things that every mother and daughter do...and it was a waste.

Her sadness turned to anger; her hands curled into fists and a tremble ran down the length of her spine. "I might not come back at all," she said tightly.

Mother looked away from the TV, the V tightening. "What?" she asked.

"I hate it here," Gwen said. She shaking, her skin flushed. "I hate it here and I hate you."

Mother's features darkened. "Excuse me?"

"I hate your guts," Gwen said through her teeth. "I hate this house, I hate your husband, and I hate being your daughter."

For a moment Mother simply looked at her, then she sneered. "Ungrateful little bitch. I gave up everything for you. I married that son of a bitch for you. If my parents had their way you would have been aborted."

Mother's face tightened.

"And I wish you were. I'd have my inheritance and I wouldn't have to live my life for you."

Her mother's words pierced her heart like the cold steel of a knife.

"Gwen this, Gwen that," Mother said, her lips puckering in disgust, "Gwen, Gwen, Gwen. I'm sick and tired of living for an unappreciative little twit like you." She leaned forward. "I hope you never come back. I'd have a party if you didn't."

A bomb blast of rage detonated in Gwen's chest. "I HOPE YOU DIE, YOU UGLY DRUNKEN BITCH!" she screamed. Her nails bit so deeply into the soft pads of her palms that they drew blood. Her lungs burst and her heart slammed. She was trembling, hot, sick, and her eyes were beginning to blur with tears. "I HATE YOU!"

Mother's response was cold, even. "I hate you too. You ruined my life. I should have strangled your in the cradle."

"FUCK YOU, CUNT!" Gwen screamed, her body bending forward. She was openly crying now. "I'M NEVER COMING BACK!"

"Good."

Sobbing, Gwen turned away and rushed from the room, her hands pressing to her face. She was three blocks away before she realized something: She was serious.

She would never set foot in that house again.

And she never wanted to see...that woman...again.

She didn't know what she would do or where she would go...but it would be a whole lot better than where she came from.

Even death would be better.

* * *

Lemy dug hair metal, man, he really did, and when he saw videos of Poison and shit, he was like Ooooh, those dudes look cool. Nevertheless, as he sat at his desk and sifted through the guts of Lisa's radio, he felt like the biggest dumbass/loser/queer/idiot in the world.

It was pushing six and the sun was setting. Gwen was coming over and he was in his costume - pink spandex pants, sleeveless leopard print blouse he borrowed from Liena, denim jacket, pink scarf (that one came from Leia), and a red bandana. His hair was permed and it bothered the fuck out of him - it was really stiff and if he moved his head too quickly he'd spill over like The Shockmaster.

He glanced over at the clock (moving slowly, of course). Gwen should be here any minute. He'd go downstairs and wait but for one, he wanted to get Lisa's radio back to her ASAP. I could fix it myself, but I've already allotted enough time to trivial matters recently. I would appreciate the utmost speed, as I prefer to work whilst listening to music. Oh, he knew: Every time he went up to the third floor it was a fucking boogie wonderland. He bought a DISCO SUCKS T-shirt from Hot Topic once and wore it just to irritate her. (I know, Hot Topic's gay, shut up). She didn't take the bait, though, which kind of irritated him. It got to the point where whenever he was wearing it he'd seek her out for a little small talk, and pick at the shirt the whole time. Look at this, Lise. I hate your music. I'm being so obnoxious as to wear a shirt proclaiming my disdain for your genre while talking to to you directly. Say something. Acknowledge me.

Hm. Thinking back, that was kind of childish...and attention seekingish. Not surprising, he guessed, since he always felt ignored and shunned, but he never thought that he went out of his way to get his family to notice him. God, what else did he do?

Nevermind. Focus. The second reason he wasn't waiting in the living room was Loan - she roasted him so hard for his costume that he almost punched her. To be fair, that was before her medication kicked in. Now she'd just look at him and roll her eyes instead of lighting him up like Christmas morning.

He really didn't get her. Sure, she was a ball of anxiety and disorders or something, but the mean shit when she was nervous and not drugged up...man. Dad wasn't lying by the way, she really does do that if she isn't on the dope. Once, for someone's birthday (was it one of his?) they went to a bowling alley and dragged Loan along. She spent the whole time sitting at a table and whipping her head around like she was afraid someone was going to come up on her. When a waitress came over to see if she wanted anything, Loan called her a trailer park tramp. Then, after that, she started going hard on Leia for 'being a total bitch to everyone." When she got like that, man, it was like feeding logs into a fire, an endless cycle of calling people names, getting embarrassed and even more nervous, and calling people meaner names.

What a fucking weirdo, right? She kind of reminded him of that kid from South Park. Twitch? Is that what his name was? He was really anxious or something and his eye twitched. Loan's did the same thing.

Anyway, he sat back and looked at the radio before him, a confusion of wires and moving parts to anyone else but a carefully crafted machine to him. A carefully crafted machine that was malfunctioning for seemingly no reason.

Huh. Maybe it got tired of playing disco and decided to off itself. Couldn't sat he blamed it. I mean...I can behind some of it, but as an essential food group the way Lisa used it? Pfft. I'd wrap this goddamn banana around my neck and pull a David Carradine. Remember him? He looped a belt around his throat, tied it to the coat hanger rack thing in a Bangkok hotel room, and jacked himself right into the grave. He wouldn't do the jacking part, but he'd do everything else.

Man, that's gotta be the most humiliating way to go. DIED WHILE MASTURBATING. Imagine that splashed over every fucking newspaper cover in the country above your picture.

The head-shaking shame your family would feel.

The endless jokes at your expense:

What is David Carradine's favorite game? Hangman.

What is David Carradine's favorite Chinese food dish? Egg foo hung myself.

How is the Thailand government honoring David Carradine? By changing the capital city name to Hangkok.

No thank you. Living a lame life is one thing, but dying a lame death is another. I wanna go out with explosions and bullets and shit, like in a police standoff.

Oooo, ooo, ooo! Like those dudes in North Hollywood! Now that was a shootout! They had the fucking ski masks and the body armor and the fucking machine guns, and all the cops were hunkering behind stuff too scared to do shit. Then the one dude was walking down the sidewalk, ran out of ammo, and shoved his pistol under his chin. BOOM! That's how a fucking man dies.

He glanced at the clock.

Any minute and Gwen would be here.

He hoped Loan didn't get fucking stupid again. That shit she said at the table really hurt Gwen's feelings: When they first got up here, you know, before cuddling (and eventually having sex because, really, cuddling's a turn on), she had tears in her eyes. You know how that made him feel? To see her crying? It felt like someone roasted a fuckng knife blade over an open fire and jammed it into his heart. It...it made him want to cry.

"Really, ignore her, she didn't mean it," he said later as he held her. His face was buried in her soft hair and his lips brushed across the nape of his neck. "She's all screwed up." He then proceeded to spout a laundry list of Loan's problems - the ones he could remember, at least.

It took a loooong fucking time.

"I'm okay," Gwen said, "but...yeah, it did kind of...kind of hurt."

"I'm sorry," he said, misery washing through him. He kind of got the vibe that Gwen was down on herself, and being attacked by Loan was probably the worst fucking thing that could happen to her. He'd tried several times over the past week to get her to open up about her feelings and stuff, but she always blew him off. He could respect her not wanting to talk about something painful, you know, but he wanted to be there for her. She was his everything and when your everything's secretly hurting, and her eyes look so sad sometimes, you do something about it.

Only Gwen wouldn't let him in.

That sounds like some dumb namby-pamby therapist shit, but it was true, kind of. He wanted into her emotions and stuff.

Presently, he leaned forward and sifted through the guts of Lisa's radio. What the hell was wrong with this POS anyway? He checked everything. Why wasn't it working? He was starting to get frustrated, which didn't usually happen when he was working on something mechanical; this was his happy place, and the worst hour he ever spent balls deep in a machine was still pretty damn good. Maybe it was the…

That thought trailed off when someone knocked on the door. Where is my disco, male nibling? I require it to continue playing mad scientist…

"Yeah?"

The door opened and he glanced over his shoulder, freezing when he saw Gwen.

A week ago, he told her it would be hot if she dressed up like a chick from the eighties and she said she would. When she said her costume was a surprise, he figured it was the totally tubular 80s girl thing (come on, give my brain some credit), but...goddamn! She wore black leggings that hugged her shapely legs like a second skin, a torn and tattered denim skirt, a jean jacket over a pink and black shirt with a funky pattern, and a large bow in her teased hair. Lemy's eyes went from her feet to her head, his jaw dropping and his dick threatening to tear though his pants like they were a wall and it was The Shockmaster.

She smiled tightly. "Hey, Freak. You like?"

Lemy didn't reply...man, he couldn't reply.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said. She came in, shut the door, and crossed to the bed, where she sat, her hands going to her lap. He opened his mouth to say something (dayum, gurl, maybe), but before he could, Gwen face screwed up in an expression of misery and she started to cry, her hand flying to her face and her head bowing. Lemy blinked in confusion, then his heart clutched.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly and leaned forward. He reached out and laid his hand on her knee; she trembled under his touch, and the worst feeling Lemy had ever experienced in his life went through him. It was like acid mixed with broken glass

"Was it Loan?" he asked, and anger started to well in his chest. "I'll knock that skuzzy bitch's head off."

Gwen shook her head. "No," she hitched. She lifted her face; her cheeks were red and tears shimmered in her wounded eyes. "It's my mother."

"What?" Lemy asked, an edge in his voice. Oh, God, did her mom die or something?

Gwen's lips trembled. "She doesn't love me," she said, her voice cracking. She wept harder. "She doesn't love me."

Lemy moved from the chair to the bed, sitting next to her and slipping his arm around her shoulder. She melted into him and buried her face in his chest; wet tears soaked through the front of his shirt. "What do you mean she doesn't love you?" he asked softly and stroked her hair. She sniffed wetly and shook slightly. For a long time, he caressed her hair, and she slowly calmed enough to tell him everything - starting with the way her parents treated her and ending with her and her mother's fight that evening. As Lemy listened, he cycled through every emotion it was possible to feel - anger, hatred, regret, and sadness. By the time she was done, her voice was hollow, and he was fighting back tears of his own.

"I've never been good enough," she said, "nothing I do...nothing I say…I've always felt stupid and...and like a failure."

Lemy swallowed and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He wanted to speak, to say something, to utter a magic combination of words that would dispel the pain her heart, but his lips were quivering and if he tried he would break down.

He hadn't known her very long in the grand scheme of things, but in the time he had, he had come to love her with a ferocity that scared him - he would do anything for her, anything, and if she left him, he probably wouldn't make it. His heart would literally break and he would die. She was perfect in his eyes - smart, beautiful, caring, attentive, fun, and a thousand other things that he couldn't name. That she was made to feel like trash, like she wasn't good enough hurt worse than anything else - even the acid/broken glass thing.

And to think...in the beginning he didn't love her. He thought...man, he thought she was a nuisance. He treated her like garbage too.

That did it: He broke down and started to cry himself, his forehead falling limp against the top of her head and her nose nestling in her hair. She looked up and he pulled away. Her face was drawn in worry, and he fought to get a grip on himself. She needed him, and he was going to fucking be there for her...he was gonna be her rock...now and for-fucking-ever. He blinked away his tears and cupped her cheek in his palm; her brushed his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone and gazed into her tearful eyes. She stared back, and the air between them crackled with electricity.

"You're not stupid," he said, "and you're not a failure. You're perfect."

Her eyes flicked away. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are, Gwen," he said firmly, and she turned her gaze to him once more. "You're...you're everything I could want, and I love you with all my heart. You're my everything."

She smiled weakly and touched his face. "You're my everything. You're the only good thing to ever happen to me."

Lemy pressed his forehead against hers. A raging tempest of emotions battered him like a stormy sea, and he gave into them. "I want to be with you forever," he said, "I want you to always be with me, Gwen. I love you."

A bright smile broke across her lips, and her face lit up, her eyes like the sun emerging from behind a bank of dark clouds. His heart swelled and he giggled like a little girl. She tilted forward, and he leaned into her, their noses brushing and their lips grazing, his air now her air, her spirit now his. Their eyes met and held, and in them Lemy saw the future...his future.

You have angel eyes

Such a smile that lights up my life

You're a dream come true

Now I'm holding you

And I'll never, never let you go

"I want to have your children," she said, her hand rubbing faintly across his chest. "I want our children."

Something stirred deep within him, and he smiled. "I want that too," he said, and he did; he didn't know that he did before, but now, staring into her eyes, he did...a child both his and hers, their love for one another made into flesh.

He kissed her and slipped his hand into her hair.

First time I laid my eyes upon you

All my dreams were answered

First time I kissed your tender lips

My love to you I surrendered

He gently laid her back on the bed and mounted her, her hand creeping into his and their fingers threading. Their tongues made desperate love to one another, their free hands tenderly touching each other's trembling bodies.

I'll never let you go

You're always on my mind

You're the only one for me

You're all I need

And I'll never, never let you go

He slipped out of his boxers, and she opened her legs for him. He shifted and brought his erection to her center. She reached out and touched his face. "I love you," she said.

"I love you," he said, and pushed into her, his body melding with hers. The first time he entered her, he felt something like a jolt, and now he felt it again. Her walls molded around him, as though she was made for him and him alone, and he for her. She moaned as he pushed to her limit and leaned over, their chests smooshing together. She looked into his eyes, and he into hers.

"I love you, Gwen," he said.

Angel eyes

My heart relies

On the love you give to me

You never let me down

You're always by my side

And I'll never, never let you go

They moved in time, each giving love and each receiving it, both whispering soft and heartfelt declarations of love and devotion. Gwen wrapped her legs around his waist and held both of his hands, watching him through slitted eyes. She could feel his head poking the opening of her womb, and she she shifted her hips, opening herself to accept his seed...to bear him a son who was just as perfect as his father.

When my heart starts to crumble

And the tears start to fall

You hold me close with tender lovin'

And give me strength to carry on

The end came quickly, her body responding to his and his body to hers like two rocks scraping together and creating sparks. He held her hands over her head in a V and kissed her as he swelled against her walls. She threw her hips flush against his and spread her legs as far as they would go. He thrusted hard, getting as deep as he could, and released, wet fire shooting deep into her stomach, its heat filling her. He thrusted again, and more shot into her; she trembled as her own climax hit her, and for a moment, the world seemed to roll away, leaving only them and the burning sensation of their love made manifest.

I'll never let you go

You're always on my mind

You're the only one for me

You're all I need

And I'll never, never let you go

Sometime later - maybe seconds, maybe minutes - he pulled out, and she clamped her thighs closed to trap as much of him inside as she could. He stretched out beside her and took her in his arms; they were both trembling from exertion and from the power of their shared orgasm.

"You should stay," Lemy finally said into her ear, his breath warm and soothing against her skin. "You can live here. With me."

"I don't think your parents would like that," Gwen replied, "or your sisters."

She would, though; waking up next to him and falling asleep next to him, always having his love and tenderness. It would be heaven.

"I can talk to Dad," Lemy said, "and everyone else can go to hell"

Gwen laughed. "I don't know," she said, "I don't want to cause a problem."

"I'll talk to him," Lemy said, "but you're definitely staying the night."

"Oh, I am, am I?" she asked playfully.

"Yep."

"Hmmm...okay, if you insist."

* * *

Lincoln Loud put his hands on his hips and stared down at his eldest daughter: She was lost in a video game with graphics so good it looked like a movie. "Loan?" he asked.

She didn't reply.

"Loan?" he asked, sharper this time.

"Huh?" Her head twitched slightly in his direction, but her gaze never left the TV.

Lincoln sighed. "Have you seen Lacy and Liby?"

Loan shook her head. "No, not in a while. Like...yesterday or today or something."

Oh. Okay. That helped.

Leaving her to fight aliens or Nazis or whatever it was (alien Nazis?) he climbed the stairs, his hand trailing on the bannister. It was late, pushing seven, and he hadn't seen Lacy or Liby all day. That wasn't unusual, as they often spent time out and about doing God knows what, but they were always home by dinnertime. Tonight, they weren't.

At the top of the stairs, he met Leia, dressed in as Harley Quinn or some damn thing: Pigtails, one blue the other pink, and a bandit mask. And very, very short shorts. "Hi, Daddy," she chirped, "can we play before I go trick or treating?"

"In a minute," Lincoln said absently, his hand lifting like an Indian chief's (how). He didn't see her shoulder-slumping disappointment or hear her heavy sigh. He didn't show it, but he was really beginning to worry.

At their door he knocked and waited for a response. When he didn't get one, he opened it and went in. The lights were off and the bed were neatly made. He snapped the switch and warm, muted glow split through the shadows. He glanced around, saw nothing, and started to leave when he noticed the paper on the bed

A note?

He picked it up and read it.

Dear Dad;

Went to kill Ricardo Montoya. Be back soon. Love you.

\- Liby and Lacy.

For a moment he simply stared at it..then chuckled. And here I thought they were in danger. He sat it back on the desk and left the room with a fond head-shake. Liby and that Montoya guy. If she wasn't with Lacy, he'd swear they had a crush on each other.

Poor man had no idea what was coming to him.

Lincoln actually felt sorry for him.

Because if Liby said she was going to kill you, brother, she was going to kill you.

Now...where was he?

Oh.

Right.

Leia wanted to play.


	12. Fast and Hard

**Lyrics to Ten Seconds to Love by Motley Crue (1983)**

November 1, 20 -. La Guarida del Lobo, Costa Rica. 19:50 hours.

The night was black, and the ocean too...you couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. Lights shone in the distance like stars, but otherwise, the world was void.

Liby stood by the open back hatch of the transport chopper, gripping a metal handhold and watching as the water came closer, the wind displaced by the spinning rotors kicking up white ripples. She was dressed in a black wetsuit, her bag on the floor next to her and the HK across her back. Lacy stood on the other side, her faced bathed in the eerie green glow cast by the running lights. She looked up, and their eyes met.

The younger girl was scared.

Taking her sister's hand, Liby forced the cheeriest smile she could muster, then leaned in, shouting to be heard over the whump-whump-whump of the rotors. "This is the fun part!"

Lacy grinned tightly.

They'd been on the chopper for nearly an hour, sailing first over dense jungle, then along the craggy coast before angling out over the vast Pacific. It was manned by elements of

La Autoridad Moral, a right-wing militia group who fought against what they saw as vice - drugs, prostitution, and government corruption. The U.S. had been funding them for years, and Liby once conducted operations with its current head, Eduardo Ruiz. She couldn't say she liked him or his group, but there's a saying in the intelligence community: A rainy night at the inn makes for strange bedfellows. During her work with Ruiz, she saved his life when they were ambushed on a jungle road by members of El Frente Comunista, a left wing group: The Humvee they were riding in hit an IED and exploded, then rebels started shooting from the brush. She dragged an injured Ruiz behind the twisted, burning remains of the vehicle and, along with two others, held the communists off until back up could arrive.

For this, he was eternally grateful, and promised her anything she wanted or needed. "Call me," he said, "and I will make it happen." As soon as she landed in Quepos and she and Lacy got settled into their hotel room, she called him on his private line. I'm here, she told him and that was that. In the morning, a man in a tan uniform, sunglasses, and red beret arrived in a military style Jeep, picked them up, and drove the twenty miles south along a rutted mountain road to LAM's headquarters.

On the way, Liby and Lacy sat in the back holding hands, each drawing strength from the other. Despite her fear, Lacy watched the passing countryside with a curious wonder that made Liby smile. This was her first trip out of the country, and so far she'd been enjoying herself: They landed early in the evening, and spent a good two hours walking along the beach before eating a late dinner at a cafe along Quepos's strip, a rush of clubs, bars, restaurants, and massage parlors that catered to American and European tourists. Later, in their room at the exclusive Recurso, they made slow, passionate love to one another, their kisses sweet and their touches soft, as though this would be the last time.

And it very well might be, Liby thought now as she stared off at the horizon. Her stomach clutched, and she fought hard to shove those thoughts aside. The time for that was past, she told herself, now was the time for action.

Presently, the churning sea came closer to the ramp, the tops of the waves less than five feet below. The chopper, tilted slightly backwards, stopped its descent Liby squeezed Lacy's shoulder, then nodded toward the raft. One on either side, they slid it down the ramp and over the edge: It dropped and landed perfectly on its hull. Liby grabbed the thick metal cord tethering it to chopper and pulled it, dragging the craft closer. She took off her bag and rifle and dropped them in, then took Lacy's and tossed them next to hers. "Alright," Liby shouted, "follow my lead!"

With that, Liby dropped into the water, holding her breath and crashing through the surface like a stone. She broke, reached out, and scrambled onto the boat, then motioned for Lacy to follow.

Lacy's eyes drifted to the lights on the horizon, like a ship at sail: Five nautical miles separated them from Ricardo Montoya's compound...from men with guns and possible death. A tremor ran through her body, and for a moment she was completely frozen, her stomach clutching like an angry fist and her heart knocking against her ribs in a nervous tempo. She swallowed thickly and glanced at Liby, who sat toward the bow of the raft. She gestured, and Lacy took a deep breath.

She had been mentally preparing herself for this night for weeks, and while she knew she wasn't exactly ready,standing now on a ramp, moments away from taking the final plunge, terror swept through her like an icy wind. In an instant, she knew that she couldn't do this. Once she thought she could, but she couldn't: She would seize up at the wrong moment or do the wrong thing and get them both killed. She would die...Liby would die...and it would be all her fault.

I should have stayed, she thought, Liby would have been better off without me.

Below, Liby beckoned urgently. The boat rocked back and forth in the swell.

She didn't know what she was doing. Liby was James Bond, Rambo, and The Terminator all rolled into one, what was she? A failed football player and disappointment who shot a bunch of paper targets and got her ass kicked in the backyard for three weeks. She didn't have what it took. Wait, no, she did - what it took to wind up dead.

Liby cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, her words ripped away by the spinning rotors and scattered in the wind.

Liby needed her, though; she said so herself...again and again.

Sighing, Lacy held onto the cord attaching the chopper and the boat and scutteled to the end of the ramp; it shook and groaned under her weight. Closing her eyes, she let go and jumped, keeping her body stiff and straight just like Liby told her to. She broke the surface, cold water closing around her head, then came up with a gasp. Lights from the chopper dappled the water like gold, and as she climbed into the raft, Liby unhooked the cord and tossed it away, then held a thumbs up to an unseen crew member in the helicopter. The ramp lifted, closing with a metallic clang of finality, and the bird took off.

Trembling, Lacy crawled over the edge, nearly spilling back when the boat rocked, and dropped onto her side; even with the wetsuit she was cold.

I thought the Pacific was supposed to be warm.

The chopper rose high into the night, dwindling like a passing comet until the only sound was the splash of the ocean against the hull and the only light came from Montoya's island. It was far, faint, and looking at it made Lacy's stomach roll.

Liby came over and sat next to her, unzipped one of the bags, and rummaged around. The blackness was so abnormally total that Lacy couldn't even make out her sister's profile. "Here," Liby said. Lacy reached out and fumbled blindly until her fingers brushed something. She took it; her night vision goggles.

She slipped them over her head, and the world came alive with a greenish glow that hurt her eyes after the impregnable dark. She turned and watched Liby slip her own goggles on. "You man the til," Liby said, "I'll navigate." She leaned over and pulled a cord attached to the motor; it coughed into life, and then settled into a low, quiet hum. Liby took a map out of her bag and opened it as Lacy got into position.

Soon, they were gliding across the surface of the water, the bow bouncing as it broke through the waves. The lights drew inexorably closer, and Lacy's dread built like steam gathering in a pressure cooker. Liby sat in the middle of the craft, her head bowed over the map. "Port," she'd occasionally tossed over her shoulder, "starboard."

Nearly forty five minutes after setting out, the rampart-like bluffs of the island's southern corner loomed craggily over them, black against the night. Waves broke against jagged rocks jutting from the water with a rhythmic sound that reminded Lacy of crowd noise at one of her games. If she listened hard enough, she was certain that she would be able to make out dark and mysterious chants.

She shuddered.

"Port," Liby called, and Lacy steered to the left. They were moving slower than before, rocks poking though the surface all around them. Most of the coastline edging the island was unsuitable for landing: There were the bluffs to the north and a wide marshy area in the south. The only clear spots were a wide stretch of beach on the other side - in full view of the house - and a thin strip on this end.

Presently, they approached it, a narrow edge of white sand guarded by rocks and bordered to the back by thick jungle. The surf crashed against the shore with a loud, roaring din. "Cut the engine," Liby said, and Lacy obeyed, flipping a switch and killing the motor; the boat rose and fell on the tide.

Liby jumped out, the water reaching the bottoms of her breasts, and Lacy did the same, grabbing the towline. Together they dragged the boat onto the beach, then to the treeline, where they covered it with palm fronds so that no passing patrols would spot it and sound an alarm.

Moving quickly, they changed out of the wetsuits and into their other clothes: Tight black pants, tight black turtlenecks, tactical vests, and black watch caps. Liby attached several grenades to her vest, and then did the same for Lacy; Lacy was shared shitless of these things, sure that even looking at them wrong would cause the pin to come out and BOOM there they went, two dead white girls scattered through a Costa Rican jungle.

"Stay close to me," Liby said and threaded the strap of the bag around her shoulder. "Move fast and keep low. Make sure to sweep left and right with your rifle. Finger on the trigger guard and not the trigger itself until you want to shoot something. Okay?"

Lacy nodded. "Y-Yeah."

Liby touched her sister's face. "I love you," she said, her voice sober.

"I love you too."

They kissed as though it were the last time they would ever get the chance. And though neither said so, both knew that it could be.

Liby drew back and stroked Lacy's cheek. "We'll make it through this," she said, "and when we get home, we'll never have to worry about Ricardo Montoya again."

Lacy nodded. In that moment, she put every ounce of trust and faith she had into Liby. If she said they were going to make it, they were going to make it.

They kissed again, their lips lingering and their tongues flicking; their fingers entiwned and their bodies pressed close together. Lacy's heart blasted as it did every time she kissed Liby, and she put her hands on the older girl's hips.

For a long time, they held one another, their faces buried in the crooks of each other's necks, then Liby kissed her shoulder. "Come on. Let's get this over with." She pulled away from her sister's embrace and hefted the HK. Lacy did the same.

Follow Liby's lead, she knows what she's doing; follow Liby's lead, she knows what she's doing…

Lacy repeated this to herself again and again as she followed her sister into the jungle.

* * *

Lemy came slowly and languidly awake in a bar of bright sunshine like a cat, his nose twitching and his brows furrowing. Something was tickling his face, and when he tried to move away, he couldn't: A warm weight rested atop his arm. Panic gripped him and the fog in his brain began to dissipate like morning fog. For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was The Night Stalker, that Hispanic dude who used to break into everybody's house, rape them, kill them, then pawn all their shit. He read this book about him and it was scary as fuck; imagine someone crawling through your window in the dead of night, and you wake up to them cracking you across the face with a flashlight.

Sorry, NS, you're not getting my ass. He yanked his arm free and opened his eyes. Instead of a grinning serial killer, he saw something else...the back of a head. Huh? For a second he swore it was Lizy (she sometimes crawled into bed with him when she had a bad dream), but the hair wasn't blonde, it was…

Ooooohhhhh.

The corners of his lips turned up in a sharp grin. It's not The Night Stalker, it's Gwen. LOL. See? My mind goes right to the most morbid option. It's really not healthy. I probably have some kind of goddamn anxiety problem; me and Loan can carpool to the shrink from now on and compare our many phobias, philias, and disorders. Oh, you're afraid of white rice? I'm fine with it, but brown...shiver.

Snuggling closer, he put his arm around her humped form and buried his face in her hair. It was stiff and hard from all the hairspray, but he didn't mind: He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, her scent filling his head and making his smile widen. Is that weird? Like...to enjoy the smell of your girlfriend's hair? I know it's weird to enjoy the smell of not you gf's hair (like, ya know, that lady in front of you on the elevator), but...it's okay when you and her are together, right? Or is sniffing hair just weird in general? If so, I guess I'm a real fucking strange one.

Perhaps disturbed by the sound of his heavy breathing, Gwen stirred, and her butt prodded his morning wood. His body said jump her bones, dude, but his not fully awake yet mind said just cuddle her for now. Hmmm. Okay. Don't tell anyone because I had a cool and manly reputation to protect, but I like cuddling; it's like sex but for your heart.

Or something.

He didn't know and he didn't care: He slipped his other arm back underneath her and drew her to him. She stirred and let out a sleepy, wordless mutter. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and kissed her warm flesh. He slid his fingers along her slender arm, then closed his palm over the back of her hand. She squirmed, and her butt pushed against his erection. He couldn't help himself; his body rocked forward and he pushed back, ruffles of sensation rippling through his body. Her fingers weaved through his and she turned her head. Her eyes were narrow and filled with hazy, dreamlike sleep. She was smiling, though. "Good morning," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Good morning," he said and kissed her cheek. She hummed and ran her fingers lazily through his hair. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Better than I've ever slept before," she said, "how'd you sleep?"

He thought for a second. Once he fell asleep, great, but getting there was hard: The things that Gwen told him kept him awake long into the night. He held her tight and kissed her neck and shoulders the way a mother kissed her baby's boo boos. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do, all he could think to do. I'll always love you, he vowed to the sleeping girl, and I'll always take care of you.

When he finally did fall asleep, it was with her cradled protectively in his arms, her heat and smell lulling him. The last thing he thought of before he drifted off was the oft glimpsed sadness in her eyes. In the beginning, he didn't know why it was there, but now he did, and it hurt him so fucking bad he felt like he was going to double over. The first time they had sex, Gwen told him that she was going to make him forget all about Lyra, and right as he dropped over the edge into unconsciousness, he promised to make her forget all about her mother.

"Really good," he said now and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She smiled and made a purring sound in the back of her throat. He laid his palm on the top of her head and rubbed; she winced.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Petting you," her replied.

"I'm not a cat, Freak," she said.

He kissed her lips and cupped the side of her neck in his hand. "No," he agreed, "you're not. You're a beautiful girl with sparkling eyes and...uh...a vivacious personality? I think that's the word I wanted."

Gwen snorted laughter. "And you're a goofball." She turned her head away and wiggled until their bodies were as close and tight as they could be. Literally. Any more and she'd break through his ribs like a reverse alien chestburster. Oh, no! A better but more long-winded analogy would be like that British dude. What was his name? Bear Grylls? He had a show called Man Vs. Wild where he'd go out into the woods and shit and live for a week. In one episode he was in the Arctic Circle or some shit, and to survive the night he killed an elk, sliced its stomach open, and crawled inside like it was sleeping bag.

That's what Gwen would do if she backed up anymore, is what I'm saying.

"I love you, Lemy," she said.

He kissed the back of her head and held her hand. "I love you too."

"So does your dick," she said and wiggled her butt against him.

"Yeah," he said, "that's my morning wood."

She laughed. "Your what?"

"Morning wood," he said. "Guys are hard in the morning. You know...morning wood."

Gwen hummed interestedly. "I never knew that. I'm kind of wet when I wake up sometimes. What's that called?"

"Morning dew," Lemy said instantly.

Gwen laughed. "How do you know that?"

Porn, my dear girlfriend, porn. "I dunno. I think it was in health class or something."

"They don't teach stuff like that in health class," she giggled.

"Maybe not in your grade."

"And if they did, they'd use technical terms."

She was right, but of course she was; no matter what her bitch whore of a mother said, Gwen was smart and beautiful and everything else good. Except edible. Sexwise, yeah, but not literally. If she was made of pizza, Chinese food, and omelettes…

...he wouldn't have a girlfriend for very long. He'd throw a little Donner Party, if ya catch my drift.

"I think the technical term was morningus dewus."

Gwen laughed so hard she cried, her body trembling in his arms as it had last night, but this time in a good way. "You're full of it," she said, the happy, hitching quality of her voice bringing a smile to his lips. It was like a drug; he wanted more.

"I swear," he said, "the teacher told us. He even Googled it because some kid was like 'nah, that's a lie, bro.'"

Gwen wiggled her butt against his dick and his breath caught. "Stop telling stories," she said, "or I'll have to punish you."

"Punish me?" Lemy asked.

"Yep. I'll play with your thing until you're almost there...then stop."

Lemy winced. Goddamn that's cruel. "You're literally worse than Hitler."

Gwen sniggered. "Well...did he kill, like, five million people?"

Uh...did he? Lemy thought the number was higher...like in the twelve million range, but history wasn't his thing so he wasn't sure. He knew Stalin and Mao both killed more, though, which kind of made calling someone by their name worse than calling them Hitler. Hell, calling them Hitler was kind of an insult. Like How's the weather down there, lil' one? Oh, that makes you mad? How cute.

"Something like that."

Gwen tilted her head back. "Technically, when I make you cum, you shoot, like, twenty million sperm cells, so...you're right. I am." There was a smug edge to her voice that told him she was proud to be worse than one of the most reviled people in history.

And for some reason he thought that was the cutest shit ever.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Discovery Channel."

Oh. That makes sense. They did have shows that were really educational...then they had My 600 Pound Life and shit. My Strange Addiction. Ha! That one was funny; there was an episode where this black woman was addicted to eating mattress foam. You know, that spongey shit? She'd rip off big hunks and nom it down like candy. Oh, and the white woman who was addicted to sniffing gas. Not huffing it to get high...literally smelling it. She'd carry it around in plastic water bottles and…

"I saw that one," Gwen said.

Lemy opened his mouth to reply...but stopped. Did she just read my mind?

"Yep," she said, "I read minds now."

What the fuck?

Sensing his state of confusion, she laughed. "You were talking out loud. You do that sometimes."

His stomach dropped. "I do?"

"Yep," she said, "it's really cute, so don't stop, okay?"

How can I stop something I don't know I'm doing? Oh, man, what kind of weird, fucked up shit have I said in front of people over the years? No wonder everyone thinks I'm a fucking strange-o. "Okay, I guess."

She squeezed his hand and moved it to her chest. "Do you wanna feel my morning dew?"

Yes! "Sure," he said out loud. Gotta play it cool, you know?

She guided his hand down her stomach, over the hem of her T-shirt, which had ridden up, and then to the juncture of her thighs: Fevered heat soaked through the front of her panties. He cupped her in his palm and she turned her head to look at him, their eyes locking. "You can't feel it like that," she breathed.

No, he figured, he couldn't. He slipped his fingers past the waistband and held her in his hand; she was hot, moist, and soft, her smooth, silken flesh trembling under his touch. "Feel it?" she asked.

Lemy's head bobbed up and down. Yeah, he felt it, alright.

Gwen's smile widened. "How about you feel it with your dick now?"

The Lemy Log jerked against his boxers like a wild animal against its cage at the zoo or some shit. Gwen felt it, and her eyes twinkled with sinful merriment. She reached into his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his length. His breath caught, and she tilted her head in playful mockery. He responded by skipping his thumb across her clit, which made her shake. He returned her head tilt, and she raised him a dick-head-rub.

Only one thing to do, brah: He pushed his middle finger past her lips and into her opening. Her face flushed red and she bit her lower lip as she rocked her hips slightly forward, impaling herself. "I'm gonna get you almost there," Lemy said with a crooked grin, "then stop."

"You better not," she said and gasped as he found her G-Spot.

"I wouldn't do that," he said and kissed the tip of her chin, the salty taste of her flesh filling his mouth. "I love you too much." Trailed his lips down the front of her shirt, breathing her scent into his nose and rubbing her in soft, slow circles. With his free hand, he pushed her shirt up past her breasts; her nipples were hard, and when he put his lips on one, she sucked a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. She stroked faster, squeezing every time she reached his base.

He flicked his eyes to her face as he caressed her nipple with his tongue. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were red, and her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell, the crazy pounding of her heart filling the chambers of his head and increasing his own heartbeat...his body responding to her body's excitement. He rubbed faster, and she moved her hips, gaining speed until the bed creaked and the headboard slapped the wall.

Suddenly, she clamped her thighs against his hand and stopped tugging his dick. He looked up in confusion. Did I do something wrong?

Her lust hazed eyes told him that he didn't. "Fuck me," she said.

Okay!

He pulled his hand away and she spread her knees. He shifted into position and planted his hands on either side of her, his head poking her between her lips. She reached down, grabbed it, and guided it to her center. When he speared deep into her, she jerked and uttered a keen cry. "Oh, God, I love that," she moaned.

"So do I," Lemy said. Setting a slow pace, he leaned over and kissed her neck. She hooked her legs around his hips and pushed up into every one of his downward strokes, tiny grunts and sighs ripping from her lips. Lemy had heard it said that morning sex was the shit, but he always suspected that was hype. No. It wasn't. Morning sex was fucking righteous. She was so much tighter, his dick so much harder. He went faster, and so did she; the bed was crying out in protest and the steady slap-slap-slap of the headboard was now a violent pounding. Sweat sprang to his brow and Gwen's fingernails dug into his shoulders, her head thrust back and her soft throat bared.

"Fucking...yes," she panted.

Lemy bowed his head as his orgasm formed in his depths. He grabbed the sheet in both hands and threw himself as deep into Gwen as possible, wanting to pollinate her flower like a headband wearing bee. It was starting to come, exploding up his dick like Old Faithful. Gwen's walls squeezed and she started to tremble, her eyes flying open and her hips stopping mid thrust.

And that's when someone knocked on the door.

Lemy heard it, but there wasn't fuck he could do; ten seconds ago, yeah, but right now he was teetering over the edge; his center of balance was five miles back and he was tipping, tipping…

The knob rattled and the door opened. "Dude, what the hel - ?" Mom started, but Lemy cut her off with a cry of pleasure and agony as his load exploded from his tip. Gwen's back arched and she cried out too.

Spent, Lemy collapsed on top of her and caught his breath. Remembering oh, shit, my mom walked in, he glanced over his shoulder.

She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a proud smile on her face. "That's my boy," she said.

* * *

Liby dropped to one knee behind a fallen tree trunk and motioned for Lacy to do the same; Lacy knelt, the earth soft and spongy, wetness soaking through the fabric of her pants. Jungle pressed against them on all sides, the thick brush alive with a million exotic sounds that masked the crunch of their passage. It also covered the noises made by the enemy, one of whom was ahead, his back to them and a thin curl of smoke rising from a cigarette. He wore camouflage pants, an olive green T-shirt, a tactical vest much like the ones Liby and Lacy themselves wore, and a wide brim hat. His boots were brown, and as Lacy studied them, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. For some reason, Lacy was reminded of Hector, whom she and Liby released the day before they left.

She shoved that thought away and glanced at Liby.

They had been trekking overland for close to half an hour, pushing northwest through the forest toward the house. Both were on edge, and whenever something moved in the undergrowth, they both jerked their rifles toward it. So far, Lacy had seen three monkeys and what looked like a boar. She couldn't be positive, though; it was a quick, furtive flash of green on the edge of the goggles' periphery, but she thought it had tusks.

So far, they hadn't seen any humans.

Until now, that is.

Lacy looked from the guard to Liby, her heart blasting painfully. If they were coming across people, they must be close to the house.

And to the point when shit got real.

Slipping the HK's strap over her shoulder, Liby laid it aside and took something from her utility belt: Lacy knew from the faint scrape of metal on plastic that it was a knife. And indeed it was, the point sharp and the edge serrated like the teeth of a bloodthirsty shark. Lacy's eyes widened and her stomach twisted.

Liby scanned the surrounding area, then turned to Lacy. "I think he's alone. Cover me." Before Lacy could protest if she had a mind to, Liby scurried over the trunk and dropped onto the other side, her knees bending and the knife glinting coldly. Lacy slung the HK off of her shoulder and shoved the stock into her shoulder. Her eyes were drawn to Liby, sneaking silently up behind the guard at a crouch, but she forced herself to focus on the surrounding jungle. If she didn't concentrate and do what she was supposed to, she would get them both killed.

A wet squelching sound followed by a low, muffled cry told her that Liby took out the target - not a person, don't think of it as a person. She swung the rifle around and watched as Liby stepped away from the mark; he swayed and toppled to one side like a limp suit of clothes left behind by the rapture. Liby wiped the blade on her gloved hand and motioned for Lacy to come. Lacy grabbed Liby's rifle, jumped over the tree, and hurried over, handing her the HK.

"The outpost should be just up there," Liby said and nodded into the foliage to the north. The outpost was a low concrete building from which the security detail operated. It housed the beating heart of the island's surveillance system, which she and Liby had been carefully dodging all night. Objective Number 1 of Operation Righteous Fury was to infiltrate the outpost, disable the surveillance system, plant plastic explosives, and then slip away without being seen. There are more cameras the closer you get to the house, Liby had said, we have to knock them out. This part of the mission required the utmost stealth, and even getting close to Montoya relied on its successful completion.

Liby started away, and Lacy fell in behind her, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. She tried hard not to look at the dead man but failed: His eyes were wide open and his features twisted in agony. Dark blood trickled from one nostril and from the corner of his mouth. She whipped her head around and drew a deep breath.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the outpost: The jungle began to thin and the land sloped down to a rushing stream; vines hung from trees and red eyes watched the from all sides, putting Lacy in mind of every horror movie she had ever had the misfortune of seeing. On the other side of the creek, the terrain turned steep, and at the summit, lights shone through a screen of interlaced branches. As one, Liby and Lacy dropped to their knees and swept the jungle with their rifles. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Liby popped up and darted to the treeline, Lacy running behind. They threw themselves behind two facing trees on the jungle's edge and both removed their goggles at the same time.

Liby lifted the rifle and stared down the scope. Lacy opted to shield her eyes from the glare and squint. The building was long, low, and narrow, slit-like windows spaced every six feet. The illumination came from a floodlight along the side. Toward the front, several Jeeps and ATVs were parked in a line. Around back was a door that led directly into the security center. From what Liby had gathered, there would be only two men manning the cameras.

Lowering the rifle, Liby turned to Lacy. "Alright, we're clear." She got up and moved behind her. Lacy got to her feet and together they crept along the treeline to the back of the building, dropping on either side of a bush. The door, protected from the elements by a slight overhang, was roughy thirty yards away, a generator marked ¡Alto voltaje! flanking its left side. A hanging lamp cast harsh yellow light on the step; bugs danced in its glow like pagans 'round a fire.

Lacy's bowels quivered.

Setting the rifle aside, Liby dug in her bag and took out the MP5. "You remember the plan?"

Lacy swallowed and nodded. "Yeah." She set her own rifle aside and took the MP5 from her bag as well. She pulled out the retractable stock and locked it in place. The submachine gun was smaller and more compact than the HK, better for use in tight quarters. After the assault rifle, it was feather light in Lacy's hands.

Before putting her pack back on, Liby removed a small black case. "Alright, come on." She got up and hurried toward the door. Lacy jumped up and followed, looking left and right, her entire body tingling with dread anticipation; she fully expected someone to see them and raise an alarm, but they made it to the step undetected. Liby slung the MP5 over her shoulder and took the case from her pocket. In it were her lock picking tools.

She was just snapping the metal clasp up when the door opened…

* * *

Lemy pulled on a pair of pants as Gwen slipped into one of his shirts - it was longer than hers and covered her better, though the hem still stopped well above her knees. Since she wasn't planning on never returning home last night, she didn't exactly pack a bag; the only clothes she had were the ones on her back - her costume. The first order of business was to ask Leia if she could borrow some duds (eighties slang for apparel). The second was to talk to Dad about Gwen staying. Well...second might be breakfast, but if we're counting trivial shit, the real first order of business was taking a leak.

Grabbing a headband from the dresser, Lemy went to the door and waited for Gwen. As he tied it, she came over, stood on her tippy toes, and kissed the corner of his eye, her hands flattening on his bare chest. "You're really sexy when you're not wearing a shirt," she said.

Lemy glanced down at his abdomen. Really? She thought this was hot? Pfft. Girl had no taste.

And he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world for it. He knotted the bandana and pecked her forehead. "You're really sexy all the time." He looked her up and down. "Especially now."

He couldn't put his finger on it, but for some reason seeing her in his shirt was h-o-t. Then again, she was just hot in general, so she instantly raised the sexy rating of anything she wore. Wonder if she'd look good in an SS uniform? Achtung, baby.

She cocked her head to one side and scrunched her lips in thought. "Hmm...if you say so."

"I do, he said into her eyes, and, strangely, those two words made him feel...strangely.

In the hall, there was a massive goddamn line for the bathroom because this is the Loud house, and it's not the proverbial 'typical day' without one. He counted fifteen heads on the short walk to the back of the queue, and who should be playing caboose but Loan; Gwe stiffened slightly and Lemy put his arm around her shoulder. Knowing now the kind of shit she dealt with, the kinds of feelings she had and the bullshit she believed about herself, he could completely understand why she was so hurt by Loan's bullshit. God help her if she did it again, because he'd take off on her like a fucking lawnmower.

Thankfully, she made no sign that she even knew they were there. Good. Keep facing forward and thinking about your high score or whatever, geektard. Oh, George Lucas, faster; ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL NNGH~! Gwen relaxed, but stiffened again when someone spoke behind them.

"Hmmm...that sounded like fun."

Lemy glanced over his shoulder; Lola, dressed in a thin pink night gown with sleeves and lacy white trim, crossed her her arms over her chest and raised her brows. Her lips were arranged in a knowing smile and light danced in her eyes.

Despite having had loads of sex over the past few months and not being a timid little virgin, Lemy felt a hot blush creeping across his face. "Yeah," he said awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. Gwen's eyes flicked from him to Lola and back again, her head cocking questioningly.

Lola turned her gaze from Lemy to Gwen. "You're a lucky little girl," she said. She bent over, slapped one hand to her knee, and pinched Lemy's cheek between her thumb and forefinger in the most aunt like gesture he'd ever seen from her...also the most painful, ow. "He's cute, caring, nice…" she leaned until the tip of her nose was touching his and their breaths mingled,"...and loyal." She tilted her head and chastely pecked his lips, which made him blush ten times harder. I'm not doing this, Gwen, she is! He jerked his eyes in her direction, and she looked like she was fighting back a grin. It's not funny!

Lola started to draw back, but came back and nipped his bottom lip, making him jump. She pulled away with an evil giggle. "He's just like his father."

"He's bigger than Lincoln was at his age," Luan said from the front of the line.

"Yeah, Linc was a late bloomer," Lynn added, "not Lemy, though. Kid's gonna be a monster one day. He's gonna split that girl in half."

Lemy stared at his feet in humiliation. It was all he could do. Families can be so fucking embarrassing, amirite?

"He's that big?" Lana asked, an intrigued hilt in her voice.

Oh, Christ, no…

"Oh, Al," she called in a singsong voice, "you wanna help me with some woodworking?"

"He still owes me a favor," Leia said.

"I am also sexually interested in our male nibling," Lisa said, "but have the common decency to respect his wishes to remain monogamous, a choice that frankly surprises me given his genetic predisposition to incestous polygamy."

Everyone looked at her strangely. "His what?" Lori asked.

"Genetic predisposition," Lisa said, "from the chemical agent I administered - and I forgot that I wiped your minds. Again. Damn it."

"You what?" Lori demanded, her hands flying to her hips.

Lemy scratched his head. I'm predisposed to being an incest freak?

Removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose, Lisa said, "Twenty-one years ago, Lola, Lucy, and Lana fell in love with Lincoln. I wasn't sure he would reciprocate their affections, so I created a pheremonal stimulant to make him more receptive. Something went wrong and it affected the whole house, leading everyone to engage in the most hideous sex acts imaginable. I managed to reverse the acute effects, but your brain chemistry - and indeed even your DNA - were both permanently altered, leading you to accept incestuous relationships, and congress, as not only acceptable but desirable as well. It also increased your libidos."

Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

"Christ," Lisa said in frustration, "you people are dense. In other words: I accidentally turned us all into perverts and the effects are hereditary, therefore our children are perverts, too."

For a moment no one said anything...then a wave of shrugs, 'mehs' and other displays of apathy went through the line.

Huh. That explains everything, actually. "Wow," Gwen said and slapped his butt, "you really are a freak."

"Talk to Lisa," he said, "it's her fault."

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I like it, though."

"So does everyone else, apparently," he said. "I'm sorry about that. Lola tried to get me to sleep with her but I said no. I didn't wanna...you know...cheat on you."

Gwen smiled broadly. "I really appreciate that, but it's not cheating because they're your family. I really don't mind. I told you: I think it's hot."

"I only want to be with you, though," Lemy said honestly. That was half the reason he kicked Lola out..hell, maybe even more than half.

Gwen hummed. "Well...didn't you have fun with me and Leia that time?"

He started to speak, but stopped and really thought about it. Yeah, he did have fun, but he wasn't in love with Gwen at that point. He said as much, and she nodded. "Yeah, but if you and I are both there…" she ran her fingers over his chest, "...and both having fun, what's the harm?"

Lemy once again tried to say something, but Gwen cut him off by kissing his lips.

You know...maybe she had a point. He couldn't lie..he did kind of want a crack at Lola if no one else.

"We'll talk about it later," she said.

"O-Okay. Sure."

Shortly, the line petered out and he and Gwen were it, aside from Lola. "Please hurry, Lem-Lem," she drew, "I really have to pee."

"We'll go in together," Gwen said.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, what? He looked at her funny, and she rolled her eyes. "I've seen you bust your nut on multiple occasions, Freak, don't be shy about pee."

Behind them, Lola hummed. "Does it look as hot as I imagine?"

Gwen favored him with a sidelong elfin glimpse. "Hotter."

"Hmmm."

"Maybe later on we can hang out and you can see it for yourself."

"Oooh, I'd like that."

Lemy blushed. Remember what I said about families being embarrassing as fuck? Yeah, his family was literally the worst. His girlfriend too. God, she fit right in.

"If Lemy doesn't mind," she added.

Well...kind of yes and kind of no...come on, it's early and my bladder is bursting. Let me wake up, pee, and eat something then ask me how I feel. "It'd be a good way for me to bond with your aunts and sisters," Gwen said, a playful inflection in her voice.

Ehhh. He looked up at Lola. God, she was sexy af, can't deny that. And if that two seconds he spent in her mouth the other night was any indication, she was good. "No," he finally said, "I don't mind."

Lola's open mouth, curled lip smile told him that he just made her a happy girl. "Okay," she said, "we can hang out later. Or soon. Whenever you're ready, really."

"Cool," Lemy said.

In the bathroom, he went to the toilet and threw a nervous glance at Gwen, who leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. She was right that...you know...she'd seen him in the most intimate way you can see another person (grunting, narrow-eyed, cumming), but pissing was a little different.

Okay, a lot different.

"C-Can you turn around?" he asked.

She grinned and shook her head y. No, Freak, I wanna C U P. He looked at the toilet bowl, and at Gwen's face. "Come on, I, uh, I get stage fright." She shrugged as if to say oh well.

He drew a deep sigh.

"I know it's weird," she said, and her eyes darted away, "but I kind of want to see you...at your…" she trailed off but he caught her meaning. At least he thought he did: She wanted to see him, like, at his most exposed or something. Last night before she fell asleep she asked him to tell her all his secrets and offered to share hers as well. He supposed it had to do with feeling alienated and closed out by her parents or something.

Lemy sighed, not at her but at the shit she went through.

If she wanted to watch him pee...alright. He turned to the commode, whipped his dick out, and aimed it. She leaned to one side and tilted her head to get a better view. Lemy pushed, but bro, someone's watching, no. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and thought of cascading mountain waterfalls and shit. Finally his urethra opened up and a stream of hot piss hit the water. He stole a sidelong glance at Gwen, who watched with evident fascination. Imma have some fun with her. "Ahhh," he said, "better than sex."

Her eyes found his. "Yeah?" she asked, a challenge in her voice.

Lemy nodded. "Oh yeah. You can never compare to a good morning's piss."

She nodded. Okay, I see how it is. "Is your Dad around today? I wanna...bond with him." A mischievous twinkle flashed in her eye.

"Actually, he said the same about you," Lemy said as he finished up. He shook three times then tucked it back into his pants. Gwen's face fell slightly, and he laughed. You ever notice that when you love someone all of their facial expressions are cute? Well...almost all. The I'm sad because my parents treat me like shit one didn't look very good and Lemy would suck a truckload of dicks to never, ever see it again. Anyway, he laughed at her. "Not in that way. He just wants to get to know you." He frowned. "At least I'm pretty sure he didn't mean it in that way." A thought occurred to him, and his stomach clutched. If she let him fuck his aunts, he'd be fair and let her fuck other dudes if she wanted...that meant…

Great, now he was reconsidering what he said in the hall; he really, really didn't want her to fuck Dad, but if he took her thirty pieces of silver, so to speak, he'd kind of have to let it happen if she wanted it to.

When you get right down to it, though, Dad was totally okay with him fucking his aunts, and like he'd said before, he believed that Dad was genuinely in love with them, so if Dad was cool with Lemy doing the girls he loved, Lemy would have to be okay with Dad doing the girl he loved.

Sigh.

This is why my life is bullshit.

"Well...okay," she said at length, "but I...he won't try anything, will he?" There was a note of honest trepidation in her voice that took Lemy aback.

"Like if you don't want him to?" he asked.

She nodded.

"No," Lemy said, "he wouldn't...do that. But, I mean...if you want to, I guess I'm okay with it."

Gwen blinked. "Uh...no, I don't think I want to. He's kind of goofy."

Lemy snickered. "Yeah, but all the girls love him."

"Not this girl," she said and pushed away from the wall. She brushed by him and skipped her fingers over his shoulder. "I love you."

Lemy smiled.

"Now watch me pee," she said.

Lemy frowned.

Some guys might find a girl peeing hot, but Lemy couldn't say that he did. In fact, he would definitely say that he didn't: He watched this live stream porn once where this Australian dude who looked like David Lee Roth was banging this chick and people would call in Dude, do this and Dude, do that (one guy asked him to put it in her butt but Roth was like Sorry, mate, we don't do back door stuff here LMAO). Anyway, one guy called in wanting to see her piss in a jar. She obliged, squatting over a literal fucking mason jar and filling it with pee.

He turned it off and walked away.

Gwen hooked her thumbs into her panties and wiggled her hips as they slid down to her knees, the hem of the shirt hiding her nakedness. Lemy watched with a pucked expression as she tossed her hair out of her face and sat. She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "It's not that bad."

Honestly...seeing her like that, sitting there with her underwear around her knees and her hands fisted in her lap...no, it wasn't bad. It was kind of hot.

Then she started to piss and he got confused because on the one hand...okay, it's not really gross because it's natural and everyone does it, whatever, still not sexy though...and on the other...he was getting a little turned on. Not by the piss, but by...I dunno...her.

When she was done, she tore off a wad of toilet paper, lifted slightly, and wiped. Lemy watched with a strange mixture of arousal and self-loathing. His dick was hard and he kind of hated himself for it. At least he had an excuse, tho: My aunt Lisa, AKA Dr. Frankenbitch (that's what Lori calls her sometimes) turned my mom and dad into pervs and they passed it onto me. It's mah get outta jail free card.

Gwen stood, pulled up her panties, and dropped the toilet paper into the bowl. She flushed and turned to him. "There, that wasn't…" he eyes went down to his crotch and she grinned. "Oh, so you liked it."

Shrug. "Kinda."

She pressed her body against his and squeezed his boner through his pants, her eyes widening. "Kind of? You're really hard."

Lemy sighed. "I k -"

The door crashed open and he and Gwen both jumped. Lola stood in the doorway, her hand on the knob, her cheeks as pink as her robe and her chest rising and falling. "Now?" she whined needily. "It won't take long - ten seconds, I promise."

Gwen and Lemy looked at each other.

Here I come

My mind is set

Get ready for love

You're my ten second pet

Lola knelt on the bed before him and lifted her heart shaped ass into the air. Gwen, also kneeling, pushed the older woman's robe up over the small of her back, revealing her pink center: Sick heat washed over him, and with it her wild scent. Her folds glistened wetly in the sunlight spilling through the window, and he looked at Gwen, who nodded. "Do it," she said and grinned, "fuck your aunt."

Touch my gun

But don't pull my trigger

Let's make history

In the elevator

Lemy grabbed Lola's fleshy hips, squeezed, and threw himself forward, his dick sinking into her tight, wet passage like a sword into someone's guts. Lola tossed her had back and moaned. "Oh, God, yes! Like that!"

If she's a whore, treat her like a princess, Lemy heard once, and if she's a princess, treat her like a whore. You make soft, sweet love to a princess, and you fucking trash a whore.

Digging his nails into her skin, he pulled back and slammed forward as hard as he could; his balls battered against her clit and she let out a long Ahhh.

Shine my pistol some more

Here I cum

Just ten seconds more

Lola threw herself back against him, her hips swiveling and her walls clenching around him. She fisted the sheet in her hands and bowed her head, her messy blonde hair veiling her face. Lemy held on as she moved her ass side to side with every one of his thrusts. The sensation was so in-fucking-tens his eyes rolled back into his head. He went faster, railing into her like a drill.

Lola turned her head to Gwen and moved the hair from her face. Her body shot slightly forward every time Lemy stroked forward. "Takes notes, sweetie," she hitched. "This'll have him eating from the palm of your hand."

Ten seconds to love

Ten seconds to love

Pull my trigger

My guns loaded with your love

Lemy's hips flew back and forth with hypnotic speed, his and Lola's coupling making a wet slapping/squishing sound that made Gwen's center burn. The smell of their mingled love found her nose and she drew a deep breath, tasting it like fine wine and getting a contact high.

"Do you like that, Lemy?" Lola asked over her shoulder as she moved her hips up and down.

"Fuck yes," he hissed through his teeth.

Gwen watched Lola's movements carefully, not taking notes but paying attention nonetheless. Sweat coursed down Lemy's face and chest, and his cheeks were crimson. Lola pushed herself back and Lemy gapsed. "Fuck!"

"Guys love it when you clench," Lola said and bit her lip.

Reach down low

Slide it in real slow

I want to hear your engines roar

Before I'm in the door

Lost to animal passion, Lemy grabbed a handful of Lola's hair and shoved her face into the pillow. She was immobilized now, unable to do anything but lie there and take whatever he gave her.

"Fuuuuck!" she trembled, and when Lemy yanked her head back, she purred like a revving motor, a distinctly feline look of satisfaction on her face.

Gwen licked her lips and flicked her gaze from Lemy's face to Lola's. She was fevered and wet, her body aching. An idea struck her, and she pulled the shirt over her head. "When you get close, cum on my tits," she said.

Ten seconds to love

Ten seconds to love

Pull my trigger

My gun's loaded with your love

Lola moaned when her orgasm hit her. Her teeth clamped on the pillow and her walls clamped around his dick. His load started to come, and he yanked out, turned to Gwen, and released, long, silvery ropes of cum splattering her chest. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and sighed in contentment as his molten seed landed on her sizzling flesh.

You feel so good

Do you want some more

I got one more shot

Before I'm out the door

Gwen laid back against the pillow and looked uncertainly into Lola's eyes. The older woman's face hovered inches above her own, her gap tooth smile lewd...and promising. "You'll like this, honey," Lola said and kissed the girl's neck, "trust me."

She trailed kisses over Gwen's collarbone and down her chest, her pink tongue darting out to lap the sperm from her breasts. When her lips wrapped around one of Gwen's nippes, a bombblast of senation exloded through her. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to feeling, her legs rubbing together and creating heady friction. Lola's tongie danced down her stomach, over her public mound, her sinful eyes glued to Gwen's face.

When her tongue dipped between her folds, Gwen's breath hitched. Lola's fingers grazed across her stomach and to her breasts; she tweaked them with her thumbs and flicked Gwen's clit with her tongue at the same time, which made the little girl's entire body tingle. Lemy crawled over and ran his fingers through her hair, his eyes going from hers to Lola's. Gwen grabbed his chin, tuned her head to hers, and smooshed their lips together.

Ten seconds to love

Ten seconds to love

Just wait honey

Till I tell the boys about you

Gwen's heart raced and her body throbbed with pressing need. Her orgasm was so achingly close, but she needed something other than Lola's tongue to dislodge it...something bigger, thicker, hotter. Lemy splayed his hands on her shoulders and thrusted, his dick parting her body and filling her to the point of bursting. Her climax rushed up and her back arched, her pussy taking him all the way to her limit. Stars burst across the backs of her eyelids and every nerve ending in her body crackled at once.

"Already?" he asked playfully.

"Y-Yes," she trembled.

"Don't worry, Lem-Lem," Lola said and kissed his neck, "I'll take care of you."

Was it hot for you ?

Did you fire this round?

The second that I'm through

I'll be leaving this town

Lola stared down at Lemy as she glided herself back and forth on his dick. "How does that feel, Lem-Lem?" she asked.

"Good," he moaned. He squeezed her breasts through the fabric of her gown; they were bare underneath and her nipples were rock hard.

"So do you," she said and leaned her head forward; her hair shrouded them and their tongues danced across one another. She rocked faster, and his dick started to swell. "I-I'm cumming," he said.

Lola pressed her cheek against his. "Give it to me.." Her lips nibbled his earlobe. "Every drop."

Squeezing her tits harder, he threw his hips forward and blasted like Jimmy Neutron, his science juice spurting against her cervix. She hummed and rocked faster, her fingernails digging painfully into his chest and her lips wrapping around his throat. He fired another shot, and another, his back arching as though his spirit was trying to rip free.

When the smoke cleared, he fight to catch his breath, Lola limp atop him and Gwen stretched out beside him, her fingers woven through his. Lola pushed up, her sweat-matted hair obscuring one half of her face. Hers and Gwen's eyes locked.

"Not bad, kid," she said, then looked at Lemy.

He was barely alive.

"How do you feel, Lem-Lem?" she cooed.

Lemy grunted.

She held her hand up, and Gwen slapped it.

"I don't know about you two," Lola said and got to her feet, "but I'm famished." She righted her gown, smoothed it out, and cocked her brow at Lemy. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Lemy said. He stood, but his knees were jelly, and he promptly fell over.

"Okay," Lola said, "how about Gwen and I bring you breakfast?" She bent over and kissed his forehead, "as a thank you?"

Lemy nooded. "Sure."

Good thing, too, because he couldn't move for a very long time.


	13. The Day of the Dead

**Lyrics to Funkytown by Lipps Inc (1980) - Yes, I let Lisa play DJ again. Sue me.**

The knob rattled and turned, and the door swung open with a cry of rusty hinges. Lacy's heart stopped and her entire body petrified. Liby's head whipped up and the case fell from her hands, striking the concrete with a thunk. She brought the MP5 around just as a man in glasses emeged, an unlit cigarette jutting from his lips. He saw them at the same time Liby jammed the barrel into his face; his eyes widened and the smoke fell from his mouth.

"No te muevas, hijo de puta, no digas ni una palabra," Liby snarled.

The man's eyes flicked from Liby to Lacy and then back again, his features darkened with fear. Liby poked him with the barrel and pushed him back through the door. Regaining her composure, Lacy followed, her finger going to the trigger.

Inside, banks of screen lined two facing walls. A control panel flanked either one, empty swivel chairs standing guard. At the very end, another man typed on a computer screen, a pair of headphones covering his ears. Lacy aimed at him while Liby spiun the first one around and prodded him in the small of the back. March.

The second man sensed them and turned his head. When he saw the gun, the color drained from his face and his hands froze. Liby motioned for him to take the headphones off, and he did, slowly. Lacy noticed the pistol on his hip and zeroed in on it. If he made the slightest move for it, she would open up.

Liby pushed the first man forward, and he stumbled. "Siéntate al lado de tu amigo," she said, and he dropped into the chair beside his comrade. Liby slung the MP5 over her shoulder and yanked the Five-Seven from its holster. When she worked in the Middle East, she told Lacy, she discovered that many people were terrified of handguns because the roving death squads of various dictatorial regimes (Saddam's chiefly among them) used pistols for execution. Everyone had a rifle and everyone carried, but as soon as someone brought a pistol out…

Her doing this had the desired effect: Both men's face went whiter than they already were. Lacy covered them with the rifle as Liby went first to the hall door to make sure it was secure, and then over to the men. She poked the barrel against the back of computer man's head. "¿Cuándo termina su turno?"

"M-Medianoche," he trembled.

Liby nodded slowly as if what he said confirmed her what she already knew. "Bueno. Si quieres vivir, harás exactamente lo que digo. Si no obedeces, te dispararé. O tal vez te corte la garganta como un cerdo."

Computer man trembled. Lacy caught the words 'good' 'shoot' and 'pig.' Those alone were enough to make her stomach feel slimy, and she was endlessly grateful that she couldn't understand the rest.

"Haremos lo que quieras," cigarette man said.

Liby leaned over, slipped computer man's pistol from its holster, then turned and did the same to cigarette man. She pressed a button and the magazines of both dropped onto the floor. "Anula el sistema y deshabilita las alarmas," she said, "luego apaga las cámaras."

Computer man nodded jerkily, then scooted forward and started to type, the blue glow of the screen bathing his wan countenance. His eyes darted back and forth as he navigated through the compound's security system. Liby watched over his shoulder, her cheek touching his and the gun pressed into the hollow spot on the back of his head. Lacy came over and covered cigarette man with the MP5; she didn't trust herself to be good enough with the pistol if something happened.

After what felt like a long time, computer man sat back. The screens went dark and a bank of red lights on a far panel winked out.

Immediately, a phone on the desk started to ring.

During the planning phase, Liby said that the moment the system was disabled, a light would go off at the main desk and the chief of security would telephone to find out what was happening.

Computer man looked at it the way a drowning man might look at a life preserver.

"Dígales que el sistema no funciona," Liby said. "Usted lo reinició. Estará en línea nuevamente en media hora."

Nodding, computer man picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and held the handset to his ear. "¿Hola?"

He waited for a moment as the chief spoke, then nodded. "Hubo un error en el sistema. Tuvimos que reiniciarlo. Debería estar funcionando de nuevo en media hora." As he spoke, his eyes drifted to Liby and he nervously licked his lips. Cigarette man laid his hand on the arms of the chair and shifted. Lacy's chest clutched and she jerked the rifle at him; it shook in her hands.

"Todavía," she hissed.. Still. At least she thought that was what it meant. He froze, their eyes locking, then he let go and rested his hands in his lap. Lacy watched them to make sure he didn't reach for concealed weapon, the barrel trained on his midsection and her fingertip caressing the length of the trigger.

"Sí, se estrelló. Estaba ingresando un comando y se congeló. No pude hacer que funcionara nuevamente, así que tuve que reiniciarlo." Computer man looked anxiously at Liby, then Lacy. "Creo que son las actualizaciones de software. Windows 50 se congela todo el tiempo."

Was the chief buying it? If not, he might come down to have a look for himself, and while Lacy was sure she and Liby could handle him, his absence would be quickly noticed. Liby figured that they could be at the house less than fifteen minutes after leaving the outpost; would that be enough time? Or would someone realize the boss was missing and raise an alarm?

Computer man nodded, said something, and put the phone back in the cradle. "Él dice que vendrá y verá si no estamos en línea en media hora."

"Perfect," Liby said. She took a step back and shoved the Five-Seven into its holster, then unshouldered the bag and dropped it onto a desk while Lacy covered the captives. "We tie them up, plant the charges, and get out. I'm setting the timer for twenty minutes."

Lacy nodded that she understood and tried not to think of what would happen to the people in the building when the plastic explosives went off. They're targets, not people, the enemy, us vs them, a threat to our loved ones. She could do it...but deep down, she still didn't like it.

Taking a length of rope from the bag, Liby went over and knelt behind computer man's chair. "Pon tus manos atrás."

He put his hands behind the chair, and she tied them. Next, she moved onto cigarette man and gave him the same command. He obeyed, and she bound his wrists. She got up, went over to the bag, and took out a roll of duct tape. She wrapped it around each man's head, covering his mouth, then tossed it aside. Lacy relaxed a little but kept the gun pointed in their direction.

At the desk Liby molded the plastic explosives, added a charge and a timer, then carried it over to the hall door and sat it down. Neither man saw her do this, but Lacy did, and she managed to keep from flaking, but just barely.

"Alright," she said, zipped up the bag, and threw it over her shoulder. "We gotta be quick, we got twenty minutes." She threw a glance at the men and said something in Spanish.

The plan was to create a chaos while at the same time taking out as many guards as possible.

Outside, Liby shut the door and together they darted back to the treeline, Lacy following her sister the way they had come.

For a while, they moved in silence, the only sound the crashing of blood in Lacy's temples and the snapping of twigs underfoot. Ahead, Liby went at a crouch, sweeping the HK back and forth. At one point, they came to a dirt road, and both of them dropped to their knees. When they were sure nothing was coming, they rushed across, Lacy's gaze oscillating left and right; she was half convinced that headlights would appear, and that she would freeze like a doe on a country road, moving only when .50 calibre machine gun rounds slammed into her chest.

She made it to the other side in one piece, though, and after a while, lights appeared through the foliage. Both fell to a quick crouch and hurried to the treeline.

When Lacy saw it, her stomach roiled.

Montoya's mansion, lit up like a ship at sea, or a fabled city at night, stood atop a gentle hill. Another road, this one paved, hugged the bottom of the slope before twisting away and disappearing into the jungle. A split rail fence that struck Lacy as wildly out of place followed its course.

The roar of a motor filled the world, and as one, Liby and Lacy hit the ground on their sound swelled, then the glare of lights fell across the lane. Lacy glanced up moments before a Jeep passed: A man sat behind the wheel and another manned a roof mounted machine gun, which he pivoted in a semi-circle. Lacy's heart skipped a beat and she was certain that they had been discovered, but the Jeep passed and disappeared from sight, its taillights, and the hum of its engine, both dwindling until the natural sounds rushed in like the Red Sea on Pharaoh's head.

Liby took her goggles off and stared through the scope attached to the rifle. "Looks like a clear shot," she said and sat it aside. "There'll be guards all around, so be quiet, keep low, and follow my lead."

Lacy nodded.

"We'll get through this," Liby said and stared up at the house, "we'll get through this easy."

Maybe it was actually being here, with adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she believed that.

100 percent.

* * *

Lemy's plan was to catch Dad at breakfast with a Hey, buddy, we need to talk, but Gwen and Lola screwed that all up; for almost an hour afterwards he was laid up in bed with too-much-fuk-fuk-itis and the conversation with Dad had to wait.

On the plus side, Gwen and Lola brought him breakfast in bed like he was some kind of king or something; nothing helps build yourself back up like an ego rush. And it weren't no rinky dink little breakfast either, son; I'm talking an omelette and sausage and shit. As he ate, Gwen sat on one side and Lola on the other, Lola running her fingers through his hair and smiling at him. It was actually kind of awkward.

"This is good," he said to break the silence.

Lola hummed. "This is what you get when you fuck a woman right."

Lemy blinked. Oh? "So...I fucked you right?" he asked uncertainly.

Lola patted his cheek in a patronizing way. 'Kid, if you didn't, you'd be eating instant oatmeal right now."

He searched her eyes for traces of deceit, but, dude, she was being honest. Now that was an ego boost. I mean, Dad's gotta be a tough act to follow. He was too consumed with lust to really think on it at the time, but deep down, yeah, he was a little self-conscious. Actually, he was always self-conscious. Except with Gwen. Did she say she was a virgin before him? If so, she didn't have anyone to compare him to, so that kind of made him win by default. Even if she wasn't, the sex was objectively good, so...I dunno. Leia, Lyra, and Lola had all been with Dad, and Dad was King Shit, ya know? If Lola said he was good, man, he believed her; she didn't strike him as the type to spare your feelings by lying.

His head swelled so large it popped and he died. The end.

But no, really, he felt really fucking good after that. "Did you see Dad down there?" he asked Lola following a brief period of silent self-congratulation.

"Yeah, he's eating, why?" Lola asked.

"Nothing," Lemy said, "I just need to talk to him." He cut off a piece of omelette, stabbed it with his fork, and held it out to Gwen, who leaned forward, took it between her teeth, and pulled back. He did it again and held it out to Lola. She grinned salaciously, craned her neck, and wrapped her lips slowly, seductively around the fork, her eyes staring dead ass into his. She drew back and chewed while Lemy fought to keep from getting hard. No more, brah, I can't take round three right now.

"While you do that," Lola said, "I'm borrowing Gwen for a while. I want to...show her a few things."

See...I was so afraid of losing her to Dad that I let Lola sneak up on me. Silly Lemy. He turned to Gwen and she shrugged. "Don't worry, Lem-Lem," Lola said, "I'm just going to give her some pointers." She got up and stretched her back. "Come on, honey; lets see if there are any cucumbers downstairs. Do you have a gag reflex?"

Gwen scrunched her lips to the side and thought. "I think so."

Lola waved her hand. "So do I, ignoring it is easy with practice." She cast her Cleopatra eyes upon Lemy, and he felt kind of warm. "By the time today's lesson is over, you'll know how to suck his soul out, put it back, and suck it out again."

Gwen turned to him and smirked. "Will it make him call me Mommy?"

"It'll make him call you God."

Gwen got to her feet. "Okay! Let's go." At the door, she tossed a sexy look over her shoulder. "Bye, Freak."

Lemy lifted his hand. "B-Bye."

When they were gone, he sighed. Suck my soul out, huh? I don't know whether to be excited or mortified. I do know I need to talk to Leia about letting Gwen borrow some clothes...then to Dad about letting her stay.

After breakfast, though; I gotta get my protein levels up cuz something tells me I'm gonna nut at least one more time before the day's over.

Fifteen minutes later, he pushed aside his tray and got to his feet; he was still a little wobbly, but that's to be expected after having rough sex with your aunt, isn't it? In the hall, he went to Leia's door and poked his head in: She was sitting in the middle of her bed with stacks of money arranged carefully around her; she held another in her hand and flipped through it slowly, her lips moving as she counted. Say what you want about Leia, but she knew how to rake it in. How he didn't know; she lost out so big on that lemonade stand that Dad punished her with no log for a month, lol. Hey, more for him, ya know?

He wondered if she was a hooker. No, really, back when he was still a virgin loser, he called this escort off the internet, and it sounded so much like Leia it was weird. 200 for full service; 500 for Greek; and a thousand for BBFS. Basically: 200 to smash, 500 to put it in my butt, and a thousand to smash with no condom. He punked out and hung up, but...yeah, it sounded like Leia. Expensive little bitch, huh? 200 to fuck. Pfft. Most of the girls online start at 120. But no, not Leia, Miss Precious Pussy. She was good, but not that good. Her mom, on the other hand...yeah, he'd drop a thousand on that.

But hey, guess what? Got it for free.

Plus breakfast.

His head swelled up and he nearly tipped over.

The end.

But nah.

"Hey, Leia?"

The little girl continued counting as though she hadn't heard him. He glanced over at Lizy's bed, but she wasn't there, thank God. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that he forgot until right now that he was supposed to be kinda leery of her, you know? Cuz of the Couch Incident? He just didn't want to be up in her face, knowing how she felt and…

Holy shit, I'm the new Lyra and she's the new Lemy.

Wait, I already made that comparison, didn't I? It's true, though.

Sigh.

"Leia?"

"I'm counting!" she spat.

Lemy fell back a step. "Alright, goddamn." He crossed his arms and waited for her to be done, but because this is Leia we're talking about, she too twice as long as anyone else. In fact, he was pretty sure she flipped the stack over and counted it again just to spite him.

Nodding to herself, she slapped it onto the bed and looked up, her blue shadowed eyes batting prettily. "Yes?"

"Can Gwen borrow some clothes? She doesn't have any and...she needs some." He didn't really want to go into detail about Gwen's situation. It was...he was sure Gwen was embarrassed about it and he didn't want to do or say anything before she was ready to herself, you know?

Leia cocked a quizzical brow. "What happened to her clothes?"

"They're dirty."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms. "And why are they dirty?"

Sexual...she was being sexual. No surprise there, Lisa did say we're all perverts. "She just needs to borrow some clothes, okay?"

Leia stared at him for a moment. "Fine." She motioned toward the dresser. "Take whatever" She picked up the money and started to put it back into her lockbox. He went over to the dresser and rummaged around, looking for something that half way matched, finally settling on a long tan skirt and a white long-sleeve blouse. He folded them over his arm so they wouldn't get wrinkled (you can't bring wrinkled clothes to Gwen any more than you can call on a classy lady like Mrs. Puff without flowers) then started to leave, but Leia stopped him. "Uh...you're forgetting something."

Huh? He looked down at what he had. Skirt. Blouse. Oh, duh, socks. He backed up, opened the sock drawer, and grabbed a pair; they were pink with a little lime green strip across the toes. "Thanks."

He started to leave again, but yet again, Leia stopped him. "No," she said with contrived patience, "you're forgetting something else."

Alright, now she's messing with me. I got a skirt, a blouse, and socks. What the hell could I be forgetting? He looked to Leia for guidance; one corner of her mouth was raised and there was evil in her eyes. Oh, boy, something told him she wanted to do it.

Pulling her legs out from under herself, she spread them, reached under her skirt, and pulled down her underwear, her gaze never wavering. He swallowed as he watched them slide across her flesh...down to her knees...then to her ankles and over her feet. He found himself trying to catch a flash of her center, but she closed her knees and tossed the underwear at him; they landed perfectly on the pile of clothes in his arms.

Down, Shockmaster, you gotta rest. You don't wanna wind up like Chuck Negron, do you?

"There," Leia said, "though you might want to smell them to make sure they're not dirty." Her smile widened just enough that he got her drift. Okay. He picked them up and held them to his nose; they were warm with her heart and saturated with her scent. He sniffed deeply and her fragrance went right to The Shockmaster, making him stand tall.

Hmmmm. "No, they smell good to me," he said.

"Good," Leia said. Her eyes went to his dick and then back to his face. "Hmm...you still owe me a favor."

Shocky did the old Scrappy Doo routine. Let me at 'im! Let me at 'im! "I know," he said smoothly.

"I have something in mind," she said, "but that'll have to wait until later. I need to make a trip to the bank." She got up and grabbed her lockbox. "Shoo," she said and waved her hand, "later."

Alright, alright, sheesh. Tucking the bundle of clothes under his arm, he went up the stairs to the third floor and down the unfinished hall. Lana kept telling him We're gonna finish 'er up but it never happened, and thank God for that; her crazy ass wanted him to hang sheetrock. Sheetrock! That shit's a motherfucker on your back. At Lola's door, he knocked and waited; he could hear music from inside, Christina Aguilera or some shit. He knocked again, and still got no reply, so he turned the knob and popped his head in.

What he saw made him tense.

Gwen and Lola knelt facing either other on the bed, Gwen's hands in her lap and Lola's head tilted back, her fist to her mouth; Lemy watched in astonishment as she slowly pulled a cucumber out of her mouth, her saliva coating it and glistening in the light. Gwen's eyes grew to twice their size and her jaw slackened.

"Wow," she breathed, "how do you do that?"

A silvey ribbon of drool connected her lips and the cucumber. "Lots of practice, sweetie." She turned her head, saw Lemy, and grinned. "Hi, Lem-Lem."

Dude, what the fuck did I just see?

"Hey," he said, "I, uh, have some clothes for Gwen here."

"Just put them on the bed," Lola said. Lemy came forward and sat them down, then took a step back. Both girls looked at him with hungry eyes, and if he didn't get out of there they were going to pounce. That wasn't a bad thing, now, but he really needed to talk to Dad. After that, they could have him, but not a moment sooner.

"I gotta go," he said and flashed a nervous smile, "I still need to talk to Dad."

"Okay," Lola said.

"I'll be back, though."

"Good," Gwen added.

"Yeah," he said, backing toward the door. He hit the frame and jumped. "See ya." He turned and hurried out before they could stop him, the sound of their conspiratorial giggling following him down the stairs and through the hall. Sheesh. Is this what Dad's been going through his whole life?

Poor guy.

Downstairs, he crossed through the living room and went into the kitchen, but it was empty save for aunt Leni, who was standing at the counter and working the blender. She was looking extra thicc today in a pair of tight jeans, a tight aquamarina sweater that was just short enough to expose a band of skin along her ample hip, and a pair of sunglasses on top of her blonde head. Had she ever worn those damn things? Lemy couldn't remember ever seeing them on her face, but hey, who knew?

Anyway, she was always drinking these gagtastic fucking smoothies made of seaweed and shit. He tried one once to be polite and ugh. He'd rather eat the rotten asshole of a roadkill skunk and down it with beer. Really, those things sucked. How she was able to drink them was beyond him.

"Have you seen Dad?" he asked.

She looked up and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in thought. "Uhhh...I, like, think he's outside."

Lemy stared at her breasts the entire time. They were full and round and made large humps under her shirt. My humps, my lovely lady lumps. Damn right.

He was shocked back to reality when she gasped. "Lemy! Are you, like, looking at my breasts?"

Lemy blinked and darted his eyes away. "Uh...n-no."

That was a lie.

He totally was.

Leni crossed her arms over her chest as if to hide herself. "You're, like, a little boy. You shouldn't be looking at girls yet."

Uh...excuse me? He started to argue that he was certainly old enough to look (brah, I've been touching for two months now), but stopped because, man, he was getting off track, and the last thing he needed right now was for Leni to jump on his bandwagon too. Muttering an apology, he brushed past her and went out the back door. A gust of cold wind stirred his hair and a leaf slapped him in the face. Peeling it off, he tossed it away...but it came back and slapped the other side. Son of a bitch. He grabbed it, crushed it in his fist, and went down the stairs.

Dad was over by the fence in an orange turtle neck and tan slacks, a rake in his hands and a pile of leaves heaped in front of him. His cowlick shivered in the breeze like a fucking airport windsock and as he dragged the tines over the grass, his shirt rode up to reveal pasty white flesh.

Since he and Dad were trying to work on their relationship, Lemy was making a conscious effort to not go so hard on the guy, but come on! He's lucky Lisa made everyone predisposed to incest otherwise he'd be getting no action.

Man, I hope he's cool about this. "Dad?"

Dad glanced up and smiled. "Hey. Come to help your old man out?"

Lemy's step faltered. "Uh...sure...if you can help me out."

"With what?"

Lemy started to speak, but stopped. "It's kind of a long story." He glanced over his shoulder at the porch. "Can we sit down?"

Dad's brow furrowed slightly, but then he shrugged and dropped the rake; it landed in the leaves with a crisp rustle. They went over to the porch step and sat side-by-side, Lemy with one knee drawn up and Dad with both feet resting on the ground. "What's up?" he asked, a fatherly edge of concern in his voice.

For a moment Lemy considered how to approach this. It was a pretty big thing, you know? Hey, can my girlfriend live with us from now on? Man, he was gonna say no, watch. His stomach rolled. What was he gonna do then? He couldn't let Gwen go back to her mother, not with the way she treated her. He'd sooner gouge out his own fucking eye. No hype; literally gouge it out.

Dad put his hand on his shoulder, and he tensed slightly. "What is it, Lemy?" he asked seriously.

Lemy sighed. "Its Gwen," he said.

"What about her?"

For a long moment Lemy didn't speak; the roar of the wind in the trees was the only sound. "She's being abused," he said, his voice breaking and sudden tears flooding his eyes.

"What?"

Lemy held up his hand and choked back his emotion. "I-It's not that bad, I guess, but…" he took a deep breath and told his father everything just as Gwen had told it to him, omitting only the part about the scrapbook. That seemed too intensely personal. She trusted him with that information and him alone; you'd have to hold a blow torch to his nuts before he'd even consider sharing it with someone else.

Dad listened silently until the end, his expression grave. When Lemy was finished, he stared down at his feet, the back of his neck flushed. "C-Can she stay here? I know it's a lot to ask, but...I can't send her back there. I can't see her be sad and cry like that again."

For a moment, Dad was silent, then he took a deep, thoughtful breath. "Well...m-my first instinct is to say yes, absolutely. And if…" he trailed off and sighed. "Just because her mother said those things doesn't mean that she actually...wants Gwen to never come back."

Lemy looked up at him, his brow furrowing. "She said she wished she had her aborted."

"And...and that is awful," Dad said seriously, "I'm not denying that. I'm saying that given her mother's state, she very well may…" he trailed off again. "Basically what I'm trying to say is that for one reason or another she might not want Gwen to be here and there's nothing you or I can do about that."

"She doesn't care about Gwen," Lemy said tightly.

"Maybe she doesn't," Dad allowed, "but it sounds like she has a lot of problems, and you can't take a person literal when they're sick...or, in her case, an alcoholic. Drugs and alcohol do things to people, it makes them...not think rationally."

Lemy considered his father's words carefully. "Well...she still doesn't need to be around that. You know, sick or not, her mother's a bitch."

"I agree," Dad said, "and if her mother is serious, then yes, of course she can stay here. I find it hard to believe that someone will let their child go and not wonder about them or come looking for them. She's still her mother, and if she wants her to come home, she'll have to go."

"What about adopting her or something?"

Dad shook his head. "That's a very complicated process and social services will have to be involved, which means Gwen will probably have to be placed in foster care or a group home for a while."

Lemy felt like he was going to puke.

"Then there would be the matter of us being approved to take her, which I doubt would happen given the fact that we already have so many children."

"Plus the incest," Lemy said.

Dad ticked his head back and forth. "Eh, that's easy enough to hide. What I'm saying is...there's a lot that goes into something like this. She's welcome to stay, but that might not be a feasible long term solution. Her mother, like I said, can always pull her back, and no, being with her mom does not sound like it's best for her. I don't think being shoved into a group home is either, but the law is a funny thing. Justice doesn't always feel like justice because sometimes it isn't. And sometimes we're given two bad situations and have to choose the lesser of them."

A gust of wind swept through the backyard and scattered Dad's leaf pile across the grass. "So...it might be better for her to...go to a group home or something?" Lemy asked. It was really hard to breathe with the tight band of anxiety around his chest.

Dad started to speak but stopped, his brow settling and his gaze troubled. "I don't know," he said, "if it comes down to that or going back to her mother...I just don't know."

* * *

Liby checked her watch: They had five minutes before the timer ran out and the outpost went up.

She and Lacy were currently crouching behind a stone fountain on the edge of Montoya's garden, the trickle of water grating on Liby's nerves. Ahead, neatly trimmed shrubs dotted a well-manicured lawn. Stonework flanked a path that lead to a set of wide marble steps. At the top, stone balusters lined a broad patio. Lights shone through French windows and the sound of classical music, clinking glasses, and low chatter drifted forth, rolling across the gardens like a faint breeze.

Bringing the HK up, she stared through the scope. The doors and windows were all heavily curtained, which made seeing in impossible, but she was expecting that. On the other hand, it made seeing out difficult as well, which worked to their advantage; who goes to a ritzy party only to stare through the gap of a curtain like a crackhead looking for the police?

She scanned the patio and spotted a guard walking toward the railing, an AK-47 resting against the crook of his shoulder.

Another guard stood on the opposite side of the French doors, gazing directly at them but not seeing due to distance and night. This one held his rifle crossways and looked bored, like a minimum wage employee simply waiting for his shift to end so that he could go home to his family.

Liby's chest twinged with something approaching remorse, but she ignored it. Every soldier on the field of battle from time immemorial to now had loved ones at home, parents, wives, children - but that didn't make them any less dangerous. In fact, it made them more dangerous because when you have a family, you'll do anything to come home to them. Liby knew that all too well.

Putting the rifle down, she opened her bag and rummaged around. "We gotta be real quick getting up there," she told Lacy. "By now we have four minutes until that charge goes. I want to be in position when it does." She pulled out a long black cylinder and hurriedly screwed it onto the barrel of the rifle.

A silencer.

Hollywood works under the perpetual assumption that a silencer entirely cancels the sound of a report. It doesn't, it only muffles it...slightly. In fact, the main advantage of a silenced weapon is that the noise is reduced just enough to make it difficult to discern where the gunfire is coming from and how far away it is. Liby was counting on the noise of the party covering the shots.

Wedging the stock against her shoulder, she got to her knee, leaned heavily against the fountain, and aimed at the guard facing them. Lacy jammed her index finger into her ear just as Liby jerked the trigger. BOOM! The round caught him in the forehead, and he toppled like the faceless henchman he was. The other guard turned, and Liby swung the rifle around and fired: His head jerked back and he fell to the concrete.

"Alright," Liby said and jumped to her feet. She put the HK over her shoulder, grabbed the MP5, and then snatched her bag from the ground. Lacy stood, and in the feeble glow from the house, Liby's face was hard, set. "Stick to the plan," she said, "and do not choke."

"I won't," Lacy vowed.

Liby leaned forward, and they kissed quickly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

With that, they went in two separate directions, Lacy down the path leading to the patio stairs and Liby around the side of the house. Lacy's heart slammed wildly as she pounded up the steps, her combat boots making a dull thunk thunk thunk on the marble. At the top, she veered right and bent at the waist, dropping to one knee when she reached the door. The music was louder here, the reveley of the partygoers gayer. She checked the timer on her watch. 2:04 until the charges at the outpost exploded. As soon as that happened, she and Liby would strike.

She imagined the carnage that was to follow, and couldn't suppress a tiny shiver. Liby originally planned to try and spare as many of the guests as possible, but changed her mind after she captured Hector. She wanted to be 'sure' and 'thorough'; her plan now...open fire through the windows simultaneously (her from the front and Lacy from the back). It's safer this way for both of us, Liby said. That might be true, but it didn't change the fact that they were going to be executing unarmed civilians.

Don't choke.

I won't.

And she wouldn't.

She tightened her grip on the HK, her eyes flicking to the grenade launcher attachment under the barrel. There were three rounds in it.

As she waited, her mind went over the things Liby told her about RPGs.

There are two main means by which explosives create casualties: blast pressure and fragmentation. There is also a thermal effect that could cause burns to people nearby, but while it may produce casualties it most likely will not produce fatalities. Blast pressure isn't overly dangerous, it's the shrapnel you have to worry about: Anyone unlucky enough to be in the way will be torn to ribbons, their soft parts - flesh, eyes, vital organs - pierced and shredded.

She shivered at the image that came to mind, then took a deep, calming breath. She told Liby she wouldn't choke and she wouldn't; you choke, you die. Even so, she simply didn't have the stomach for this. Maybe Liby did, and maybe that was a good thing - you need a stone cold SOB every now and then - but she didn't. Call her weak, call her a failure, call her whatever you want, but killing people wasn't her thing, neither was torturing them. She would do it because she realized that somewhere, something, God, the universe, Groucho Marx, demanded blood, and if it didn't come from Montoya and his friends, it would come from her and her family. She wouldn't like it, though, and if she could help it, she would never do it again.

The watch face. Soft green glow. 1:01.

She took a deep, shuddery breath and swallowed around a lump in her throat. From inside, she could hear laughter as a joke was told, or perhaps someone put a lampshade onto their head. Soon, that laughter would turn to screams of pain and terror that, she already knew, would haunt her for the rest of her life.

But it was them or Liby...Lulu...her parents...Lizy...and weak or not, she was not going to let her loved ones die, she was not going to falter.

00:49.

Shadows flickered across the curtain, fluid and ghost-like against the light. She was reminded of a movie she saw as a child - a bad guy was hit by a car and his ghost stood over his body with a look of horrified shock on its face...then black, moaning shadows came out of the street and dragged him kicking and screaming to hell

In a way...these shadows were dragging her to hell - morally...and physically, cuz when all was said and done, the inside of the house was going to be hell on earth: Smoke, fire, blood, body parts, the agonized moans of the damned…

And she didn't come here on her own.

She came because of Montoya.

00:30.

A ball of anger formed in the middle of her chest, and she seized upon it. This was his fault. Liby wasn't even bothering him, and he decided to try and kill her. If it weren't for him, they wouldn't have to be here...they wouldn't have to do this...she wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that if she survived she would have nightmares for the rest of her life.

She bared her teeth and curled her fingers tightly around the rifle's grip. She stoked the flames of her anger, cultivating it from a feeble spark to a raging inferno. Someone once said: Sometimes, being a bitch is all a woman has to hang on to. Well...sometimes anger is all you have to hang on to...sometimes you need it to fuel you...sometimes it really is all you have.

She let it flow through her, using it because if she didn't, she would have nothing. She was hot, trembling, breathing heavily.

00:05.

More shadows crossed the curtain, more laughter. Live it up, assholes, because -

BOOM!

* * *

Lincoln sighed as he climbed the stairs to the third floor hall, his hand trailing on the unvarnished bannister and catching a crop of splinters. Ow, shit! He paused, looked at his palm, and winced. For years Lana had been saying she was going to finish 'er up and Lincoln was starting to suspect she was waiting for a cold day in hell to do it. He'd have to get on her ass again...then again, she thought it was 'cute' when he tried to 'lay down the law' and they usually wound up having sex. She liked it when he grabbed her ankles and held them above her head in a V. So did he, honestly; it made her much tighter.

Okay, focus, Loud. You're here on business, remember?

Right. He needed to talk to Lisa.

At the top of the stairs, he hung and left and went down the hall, the faint strands of his second youngest sister's music already finding his ears. He fondly rolled his eyes. Lisa and her disco. What she saw in it he would never know; that stuff was junk. He'd tried again and again over the years to get her into Smooch, but she wouldn't have it. I would rather listen to the sound of silence than to generic 'hard rock' played by talentless hacks imitating talentless hacks. That was her way of saying they were Kiss knockoffs. Maybe they were, but he liked them, and their music was way better to have sex to than The Bee Gees.

As he passed Lola's room, a gagging noise drew his attention, and he turned...his jaw dropping when he saw Lola and Gwen kneeling on Lola's bed, Gwen pulling a cucumber out of her mouth and coughing. Lola, arms crossed, shook her head. "No, honey, like this." She took the cucumber from Gwen's hand, threw her head back, and slid it into her mouth, taking it all the way to the base.

So...she was teaching Gwen her oral skills. Lincoln shook his head. Poor kid, Lemy wouldn't know what hit him. Lola was a fucking blowjob goddess; five minutes in her mouth and Lincoln would do anything she wanted...like putty in her hands.

Gwen watched with amazement, then sensed him and turned, her eyes widening slightly and her cheeks blushing in embarrassment. All of the things Lemy told him in the backyard came back in a rush, and he found himself feeling so bad for the little girl he could cry.

"She knows what she's doing," he said and nodded to Lola.

Lola favored him with a haughty sidelong glance and slowly took the cucumber out of her mouth. "Hi, Lincy," she said. "I was just showing Gwen how to please her man since he obviously pleases her."

Blushing harder, Gwen looked down at her lap.

"You say that like you know firsthand," Lincoln teased.

"Umhm. I do."

Lincoln looked at Gwen, attempting to gauge her reaction. Lemy said he wanted to stay faithful to her and Lincoln respected the hell out of that...but around here, you'd have to be a strong, strong, strong man to do that. Stronger than he was. As long as Gwen was okay with it, fine, but if she wasn't...see, with Lincoln and his sisters, it was different, because they were all family. Gwen wasn't family with anyone here, so she might very well not be as comfortable with it as she would be if she was family. He'd have to talk to Lemy about that.

For now, though, he needed to see Lisa.

"Just do what she does," Lincoln said and pushed away from the doorframe, "you can control a man's life with skills like that."

Lola preened.

At Lisa's door, he paused and cocked his head. What was she listening to now? Sounded like...ah, Funkytown. By Lipps Inc. Released in 1980, it hit the top spot in 28 countries, including the US, the last disco song to do so.

Yes. He knew a lot about disco.

Not that he wanted to.

Foregoing the formality of a knock, he opened the door and slipped in; Lisa was sitting at her desk and filling out paperwork by the warm glow of a lamp. Renfield the parrot-with-the-intelligence of a man covered his head with his wings and made pained squawking sounds. Bass, cowbell, violin, and electronic voice effects filled the room, and Lincoln felt the poor bird's agony so intensely that he almost considered going over, snatching it up, and breaking its neck out of mercy.

Well, I talk about it, talk about it

Talk about it, talk about it

Talk about, talk about

Talk about movin'

Disco, Lincoln had discovered, was superficial and simplistic, and he suspected that Lisa was subconsciously drawn to it as an escape from her vast and complex intellect. It was her way of switching off her brain for a little while.

"Lisa?"

Won't you take me to

Funkytown

Won't you take me to

Funkytown

Won't you take me to

Funkytown

Won't you take me to

Funkytown

Renfield shuddered. "Squawk, make it stop, make it stop, squawk."

Lincoln went over and laid his hand on Lisa's shoulder. She looked up, and her expression of annoyance instantly evaporated, replaced by a shimmery-eyed affection that never ceased to make his heart swell. She reached over and shut the radio off. "Hello, Lincoln," she said, a happy inflection in her voice.

"Hey, Lise," he said and dragged a second chair over, sitting.

She turned her body toward his and rested her arm on the back of her own chair. "To what to I owe this distinct pleasure?"

Lisa, like Loan and Lupa (and Lucy, too) was stoic and seemingly emotionless with everyone but him, and while he wished the rest of the world could see the beauty he saw, he kind of liked that he alone was privy to their softer sides.

He felt himself starting to grin, but shut that shit down like Negan from The Walking Dead. This was serious, and, to be honest, he wasn't happy. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Anything," Lisa said.

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Lori mentioned something this morning about you...erasing our minds."

Lisa nodded. "Yes. I had hoped to keep that a secret but I slipped. It's easy to forget that no one else remembers what happened."

Crossing his arms, Lincoln sat back. "What did happen?"

"Lola, Lucy, and Lana were in love with you and I...I wanted to experience sex. I was four and had no libido to speak of, but it seemed such a monumental event that I felt as though I were somehow incomplete as an individual without having had it. I was not sure you would return our...feelings, so I created a chemical agent to stimulate you. It was supposed to work only on you and only enough to make you receptive to our advances. I..made a mistake somewhere, and it infected everyone, leading them, and myself as well, and you, to engage in a host of depraved sex acts with one another. In other words, we became perverse. I managed to reverse the effects and wiped everyone's memory as a gesture of mercy, but I quickly discovered that the agent had altered everyone's brain chemistry and slightly increased their libidos. In a way, the stimulant made us all predisposed to falling in love with you and you with us. It's rather complicated but that's basically it. The effects are hereditary, and therefore our children are the same as we are."

She sat back, signifying that she was done. Lincoln took a long moment to digest what she had just told him, his mind reeling. "So...all of this...is because of that?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes."

He massaged his temples.

"Our feelings are genuine," Lisa hastened to add, "it's where they're directed, so to speak. As for the libidos...haven't you ever noticed how oversexed everyone is?"

Well..yes...but he never really thought about it.

"We're not as bad as we were while we were infected. At that point, we were virtually mindless sex zombies. Now we're just overly and easily aroused."

Huh.

"You didn't honestly think you were keeping up with so many sexual partners on your own, did you?" she asked.

Actually, he did.

Something occurred to him. "How come no one went for Lemy earlier? Lynn, Luan, Lana, and Lola have expressed interest in him, and he's been with Lyra and Leia a lot. Why did it take so long? Shouldn't they have pounced him sooner?"

Lsa waved a hand. "Oh, that's simple. None of us realized he was of age. Think about it, did you initiate a sexual relationship with any of your daughters?"

Lincoln thought for a moment. "No. They came to me."

"Precisely. They came to you when they were ready. Lemy, when he was ready, could have come to any of us, or to any of his sisters, I imagine, and that would have been that. So to speak, all he had to do was ask. We only recognized his sexual potency when his current relationship with Gwen began, therefore we stopped looking at him as just our nephew and as a potential sex partner."

That...made a great deal of sense.

"What about Gwen? If he's predisposed to falling in love with a family member, why is he with her?"

Lisa shrugged. "Being predisposed to something doesn't mean one will certainly do it. The heart wants what the heart wants. I fully expect his sisters to eventually meet and fall in love with men who aren't you or him. They may not, but they very well may."

He'd often wondered about that. A part of him wanted them to find someone that wasn't him, but another part, a selfish part, didn't want them to go. He supposed every parent felt that way, and that with him and his 'altered' brain chemistry, it was manifesting itself sexually.

Again, he rubbed his temples. He was starting to get a headache.

"I need to sit down and think about all of this for a while," he said and got to his feet.

Lisa nodded. "It's my fault," she said matter-of-factly. "And I apologize."

He bent over and kissed her forehead. "Accidents happen," he said.

As he went back downstairs, he asked himself one question: If this could all be reversed and they could become a 'normal' family, would he want it to?

And that was one question he did not have an answer to.

* * *

BOOM!

Thunder rolling across an empty prairie, orange glow filling the world as a ball of fire rose from the jungle.

Like a coil snapping open, Lacy jumped to her feet and fell back a step, the HK swinging up. Shadows flicked across the curtain as the partygoers flocked to the window to see what was happening. Bearing down hard on her teeth, she pulled the trigger, and flames leapt from the rifle's barrel: Glass shattered and horrified screams tore from a dozen throats. Bullets ripped into the curtain, tattering it to shreds. Inside, something exploded, and more screaming followed. Her mind was consumed now with righteous fury - gone was the guilt and indecision, gone was the timidity. This was go time, motherfuckers, and her family, the girl she loved, hung in the balance.

Moving her finger, she jerked the trigger of the grenade launcher: A round left the attachment with a hollow pfft and sailed through the window, ripping the rest of the curtain down. Beyond was a tastefully appointed ballroom with shiny wood floors and cream colored walls.

Boom!

The shell exploded, and moments later another from Liby. Lacy pulled the trigger again, and another round shot into the room, this one slamming into the ground in front of a terrified man in a tux: It bust, and so, too, did he, his body blowing into a thousand pieces and splattering the wall.

She and Liby agreed to each fire two and then go in; at the window, Lacy peered through and scanned the room: Fire, rubble, arms, legs, and less nameable parts clogged the floor. The walls were charred and blasted; people in fancy dress hid under tables and fled toward the foot of an ornate staircase. She spotted Liby climbing through a far window and covered her, then crawled in herslef, ducking when the rattle of gunfire sounded from the staircase. A flood of humanity flowed up as a team of guards fought their way down. Liby knelt, brought the HK to her shoulder, and opened fire. Lacy did likewise; bullets whizzed through the air, struck the wall, and hit people, knocking them down: One of the guards spun and fell over the railing, landing hard on his neck and snapping it. Another toppled over and screamed as he was trampled by the fleeing guests.

When Lacy saw Montoya in the middle of the crowd, clad in a black tux, his face white and twisted in terror, she aimed, but a round passed close to her ear and she dropped and rolled, her heart slamming. A guard flew back from the window as Liby pegged him, and without thinking, Lacy snatched a grenade from her vest, ripped out the pin, and threw it out. It struck the patio and detonated; men howled and grunted as shrapnel ripped into them.

Liby jumped to her feet and started for the stairs. Lacy got up and hurried toward a door on her right, slamming through and coming into the kitchen, a wide industrial space filled with gleaming fixtures, ovens big enough to seat four, flattops you could break dance on, and fridges so wide they could house entire cities. Pots and pans hung from overhead racks, swinging back and forth alone.

Her objective was to reach the backstairs and get to the roof. The door was ahead, beyond the second kitchen entrance. She moved quickly, at a crouch, switching to the MP5 as she did so. Halfway through, a guard appeared ahead, his eyes widening when he saw her. She stopped, jerked the gun up, and depressed the trigger: A burst of fire caught him in the chest, and he flew back, crashing through a window and falling through it backwards like a diver going over the edge of a boat. Lacy waited a moment, then pressed on, sweeping the path with her rifle. At the archway to the foyer, she threw herself against the wall and poked her head around the corner. A door with a window lead outside. A team of guards in tight battle formation approached. Lacy yanked a grenade from her vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it. A moment later, it exploded, and she jumped out, her finger squeezing the trigger. Her shoulder rammed into the wall and she sprayed back and forth, raking bullets through the swirling smoke. When the clip ran dry, she hurriedly pulled it out and fetched a fresh one from her vest, jamming it in with shaking hands and pulling back the bolt. The mist had cleared, and all that remained were the dead and the dying. She glanced into the kitchen; on the other side, flames were beginning to engulf the ballroom, thick, choking smoke rolling through the archway like demonic spirits from hell. The acrid tang found her nose, and the moaning of two dozen casualties assaulted her ears.

She ignored them and held onto her anger.

It was all she had.

Turning, she pounded up the steps.

On the other side of the house, Liby reached the head of the stairs and threw herself into an alcove just as one of Montoya's bodyguards opened fire; bullets dug into the wall, shattered a vase on an end table, and tore into a painting of a Spanish galleon at sail, some of them coming so close she could feel the wind displaced by their passage. She silently counted the number of reports, and when the gun fell silent, she popped out, brought the MP5 up, and pulled the trigger without aiming. The guard knelt in the middle of the hall, reloading while a team of his comrades rushed Montoya away. Liby's burst hit him in the chest and he fell to one side. She took aim at the fleeing men, but they disappeared around a corner.

Shit.

Ripping a grenade from her vest, she gave chase, her arms and legs pumping and her ponytail fluttering behind like a streamer. An alarm sounded, and suddenly water began to spray from sprinklers in the ceiling. She was vaguely aware that a faint haze of smoke hung in the air, but she was focused: For all her self-doubt over the past two weeks, she fell back into being Mystery Girl like pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans.

Before she reached the intersection, she yanked the pin out of the grenade and threw it. It hit the wall, bounced, and exploded; wall panel and bits of plaster littered the floor, and a groan told her that she was right in suspecting an ambush. She flattened herself against the wall and poked her head around the corner: Montoya's security detail was hustling him toward another flight of stairs, this one leading to the roof. Here the carpet was red, the walls gleaming oak with gold leaf trim. Montoya had good taste, she'd give him that.

Bringing the gun up, she fired from the hip; three of the guards running behind the kingpin slammed to the floor. There were two left now, one of them turning and raking the hall with fire; Liby dove behind a conveniently placed credenza and took cover. On one knee, she reached for another grenade, and her elbow lifted past the edge of the credenza; something hard and hot slammed into it. Red pain exploded in her skull and she cried out. Her arm immediately went numb and the grenade fell from her hand.

Goddamn it!

Are you stupid or something?

She didn't allow herself time to answer; she tossed the rifle aside and pulled the Five-Seven from its holster. Dropping to her stomach, she wiggled under the credenza, each movement sending bolts of agony into the middle of her brain. Ahead, the guard's boots were visible as he crept forward.

Breathing raggedly against the pain, Liby held the pistol out in her left hand; squinting down the sight, she jerked the trigger, and guard went down with a cry. She fired twice more, the first round hitting him in the bottom of the foot and the second splattering his testicles across the floor. He wailed, and Liby grinned savagely. Good. You shot me. Motherfucker.

Crawling out, she staggered to her feet, throbbing pain gripping her like jagged claws. The guard rolled back and forth like a bug, his hands cupping his ruined nads and his face twisted in agony. Liny went over, aimed the gun at his head, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

Gritting her teeth, she examined her elbow; the fabric of her shirt was torn and blood oozed out. The bullet just nicked her; hurt like a bitch, though.

Ignoring the pain, she darted to the stars and started up. Montoya was several flights ahead, but she caught up quick, bringing the gun around and firing; the last guard sank to his knees with moan. Montoya half turned, and when Liby saw the nickel-plated .45 in his hand, she ducked; the round slammed into the bannister a foot in front of her. She popped up and returned fire, hitting the wall as Montoya bolted up the final flight.

She knew where he was going.

The final refuge of cowards like him.

The helipad.

Grinding her teeth against the pain in her arm, she followed; ahead, Montoya burst through the roof door. Moments later, she did the same.

A chopper sat several feet away, its blades beating against the night. Montoya was feet away when a burst of gunfire shattered the windshield: The pilot jerked behind the control panel and fell to one side. Montoya ducked and turned just as Lacy stepped from behind an air vent. His gaze darted from one girl to the other, his brown eyes filled with satisfying terror. Liby lifted the Five-Seven...then dropped it to the ground.

"Fight me," she said, her words barely audible above the rotors. Montoya's brow furrowed and Lacy looked at her strangely.

Liby unslung the HK and slipped out of the vest, letting both fall. She pulled her cap off and tossed it aside.

"What are you doing?" Lacy asked.

"I want him hand-to-hand," Liby said. "Shooting him isn't enough. I want to hurt him."

Montoya swallowed as he looked from Liby to Lacy and back again.

"Throw away the gun and fight me like a man, Montoya," Liby said, and put up her fists. Her right arm hurt like hell, but she didn't care. The pain invigorated her.

For a moment, Montoya did nothing...then his face darkened and he tossed the gun away. He started forward, slipping out of his jacket as he went. "Is this how you want it, Liby Loud?" he asked.

"It is," she said.

"Very well."

They were standing bare feet apart now, facing each other like two pugulists in a ring. Montoya rolled the cuffs of his white shirt up his hairy forearms and cracked his knuckles with a cocky flourish. He balled his fists and held them in front of his face, his posture identical to Liby's. Slowly, they began to circle one another. "Make your move, Liby Loud," he taunted.

She threw a punch, but he blocked with his forearm and jabbed her in the cheek, driving her back. He came forward, and she ducked to the side, lashing out and hitting him in the shoulder. He turned, and she followed up with a blow to his chin.

Growling, he reached out and grabbed her arm; she windmilled it violently and his grasp released. Lacy's eyes went between them as they circled each other again. He threw a punch and rushed her; she ducked, got behind him, and hit his sides with a flurry of punches that sent him staggering forward. She kicked, but he caught her ankle; jumping, she spun over him and caught his face with her other foot. He stumbled back, then came careening forward like a wild animal; she bent and plowed through him like a cattle guard on the front of a train.

Now they were grappling on the ground, Montoya beneath and Liby atop; she punched him in the face and he headbutted her, knocking her aside long enough to gain the high ground, his knees caging her legs and his thumbs seeking her eyes. Lacy's heart clutched and she brought up the MP5, but before she could fire, Liby had somehow wiggled out from under him; she was behind now, her forearm wrapped around his throat and his hands clawing at her. He rocked left, right, but couldn't break the hold. Flailing his arms, he reached back, grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked, dragging her head to one side. She hissed through clenched teeth and tightened her grip, but Montoya dug his heels into the ground, got leverage, and broke away.

Shooting to her feet, Liby kicked, hitting him in the face and knocking him over. She dropped to one knee with a grunt and punched him in the head. Lightning quick, he grabbed her wrist and threw her aside like a rag doll. He got to his feet and Liby rushed him; he ducked, rammed his shoulder into her stomach, and tossed her over. She landed flat on her back with a cry, and Montoya staggered to his feet. "You are good, Liby Loud," he said, "but not as good as I am."

Liby pushed up to her feet and held her fists in front of her face. He moved in and threw a punch, but she tilted back and delivered an uppercut to his abdomen, knocking a breathless umph from his chest. He doubled over, and she hit him with a left. He shot out his arm and shoved her back. She came forward again, and he threw out an elbow, spinning her around and knocking her to her knees.

"Liby Loud, you die now." He reached into his pocket and brought something out. His wrist flicked; a knife.

Lacy brought the gun up. "Drop it!"

He jerked his head around as though he'd forgotten she was there, and Liby struck with a sick spinning kick, her foot hitting Montoya in the side of the face and driving him to the ground, blood and broken teeth spraying from his mouth.

Lacy winced as Liby stood over him, her face covered in bruises and a trickle of blood oozing from her left nostril. "A cheating dog to the end," she said. On the ground, Montoya groaned and stirred. She stooped, picked up the knife, and held it up. "Mine's bigger," she said. She dropped it and pulled out her own, the one with the serrated blade. She knelt next to him, grabbed his hair in her free hand, and pressed it to his soft throat. "Any last words, you son of a bitch?"

"Fuck you, Liby Loud," he muttered.

"Dile al diablo que te envié," Liby said, and with that, she dragged the knife across his throat, leaving a ragged red slash in its wake. Lacy looked away, but could not escape the wet gurgling sound he made as blood filled his lungs.

In a hollow display of mercy, Liby drove the point into his heart, and he died pissing himself.

Lacy was suddenly cold, and when Liby took her in her arms, she broke down crying.

"Shhh," Liby said and stroked her hair, "it's all over...it's all over now."


	14. It's Not Over

**Two Weeks Later**

Lemy shrugged into his coat and pulled his cap on, then leaned against the dresser and watched as Gwen, sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly rolled a sock up her calf. He stroked her bare legs with his eyes and tried his damnedest summon enough psychic energy to move aside the hem of her shirt - ya know, to get to her soft, chewy center (how many licks, brah?) - but he wasn't Carrie White, so it stayed where it was, the fabric lank against the tops of her thighs. She tossed her hair and looked at him, a sly smile crossing her lips. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, "just admiring the view."

She giggled and slipped her shoes on. "You should take a picture. It lasts longer." She got to her feet and grabbed her backpack from the space between the bed and the nightstand. Threading her arms through the straps, she came over and slipped her hand under his shirt, her fingers scraping his warm flesh and making him tingle.

"I don't want a picture," he said and kissed her, "I want the real thing."

She smiled against his lips and trailed her nails down his chest. "What time is it?" she asked.

Lemy glanced over her shoulder at the clock. "7:08."

Every weekday morning since Gwen started staying with him, he walked her to school. It was kind of a pain as Royal Woods Academy was in the complete opposite direction of Royal Woods Middle, but he did it with no regrets; over the past two weeks they had become inseparable, and if he didn't walk with her, he'd feel all crabby and shit until he saw her again.

The past fourteen days had been happy ones, but there was an undercurrent of dread; each afternoon when he got to the academy to walk her home he expected her mother to have dragged her back to her house or to have had Gwen taken away by the police as a runaway or something, but so far, she hadn't.

She never even texted. Dad said Oh, she might not have meant it, but Lemy was certain that she did: She didn't want Gwen.

Whatever.

Her loss was his gain.

Presently, Gwen hummed. "We have time," she said. Lemy lifted a questioning brow and she smiled...then sank to her knees, her eyes locking with his own the way down.

Suddenly, it was kinda warm in here. "What are you doing?" he asked even though it was pretty goddamn evident.

Humming, Gwen pulled his zipper down. "Nothing. I just wanna practice. Lola says it makes perfect."

Well...alright. She helped him with his homework, so it was only fair that he do the same. (Wink-wink). He undid the button and she pulled his jeans down to his knees, her pink tongue swiping hungrily across her bottom lip. The Shockmaster pressed against the material of his boxers, and she wrapped her fingers around and stroked to his base, where she gave a gentle squeeze that sent a spark of electricity shooting down his spine; reflexively, his hips jerked forward and his breath caught. "Goddamn," he muttered.

Gwen's smile widened and she leaned forward, her lips ghosting across his tip and her hot breath making the skin of his ass tighten. "Wait until I put it in my mouth," she whispered, and kissed it. Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, she pulled them down, and Shocky made a grand entrance sans tripping-and-losing-his-gay-ass-Stormtrooper-helmet. Gwen curled her fingers around his length and pressed her thumb into the soft vein at the base. A burst of sensation went through his body and his knees started to shake; he slipped his fingers through her hair and held onto her head to keep from falling.

"T-Those lessons are really paying off," he trembled.

Gwen looked up at him and pressed her lips to his slip. "Wait until you see what Lana's been teaching me," she said. She flicked her tongue out and licked his head. "You're gonna love it." With that, she molded her lips around him and pushed forward, the tip of her tongue skipping along his underside. She squeezed his base, and Lemy's brain crackled painfully with sensory overload. He ran his fingers through her hair and rocked his hips slightly, touching the back of her throat as she squeezed again, harder this time. A moan escaped his lips and his knees wobbled. She pulled back, swishing a mixture of her savlia and his precum against his fevered member Her lips slipped around his head, then she bobbed down again, quicker this time, rougher. Lemy gasped and threw his head back.

"Y-You're gonna make me faint," he stuttered.

She pulled all the way back and looked up at him at him. "That's the point," she said with a squeeze, then took him back into her mouth, going faster this time, her lips tight around him, gliding over every ridge and curve. On the upstroke, she scrunched her lips and did this little circle motion thing that made him almost blow his top.

Instead, he let out a low, quavering ahhhh and tugged on her hair, which only made her go faster, the friction of her lips and tongue working his length making him weak all over. He started to thrust his hips forward, and his balls slapped a painful tempo against her chin. He prodded her limit and felt her gag reflex constricting and contracting, but she continued anyway, faster, harder, thick, precummy drool coursing down her chin and dripping onto her sweater vest. You ever see that sci-fi shit where energy forms into this big beam and then shoots out in a rocket? That's how Lemy's climax went: Every fucking neutron and proton and fucking megalodon in his body rushed to his loins. He gritted his teeth and thrusted deeply into her mouth, so close now that -

"Are you two almost done? It's time to go."

Even in a family like this, having someone walk in while you're getting your knob polished by a girl is kinda...shocking. Lemy's heart leapt into his throat and he spun around just as his orgasm hit: Through narrowed eyes he watched as a thick glob of cum shot out and splattered the front of Lynn's tight red shorts - the ones that gave her a cameltoe. His knees buckled and he threw his hips out to keep his balance, launching another round that hit her bare knee. Gwen leaned around him, saw, and blushed, one hand going to her mouth. A third round fired forth, bursting against Lynn's calf and trickling thickly down to her ankle. She stared at him with lifted brows, really, dude? and for some reason that made him give one final spurt: It hit the floor like a fat raindrop and soaked into the carpet. He started to fall, but threw out his hand and caught himself on the dresser. His hips jerked forward spasmodically, but he had nothing left to give.

Goddamn, Lola wasn't kidding about skills like this controlling a man's life.

Lynn's eyes flicked to the silvery sperm dribbling down her shorts, then to Lemy. Uh oh. She's probably gonna rip my fucking head off and eat my body for metabolic fuel.

Instead, she swiped her finger through the stain, got a big, drippy wad, and, to Lemy's shock, jammed it into her mouth, then swished it around like a wine snob trying to decide whether the vintage was 1878 or 1879. The corners of her mouth turned up in a grin. "Not bad. Come see me after school."

Uhh...he glanced at Gwen for permission, and she shrugged. Whatever.

"Sure," he said.

"Good. Now hurry up or you're going to be late."

With that, she turned and walked away, her butt wiggling ever so slightly under her shorts.

"You're Mr. Popularity," Gwen said and got to her feet. She slipped her arm around his waist, and he put his around her shoulder.

"I guess," he said, then turned to her. "You're really okay with this, right? I don't wanna do it if you're not."

Every time he was with one of his aunts or sisters, he felt guilty as shit. She was the one who talked him into it, sure, but he had to wonder if she didn't do it because she thought he wanted it. With her self-esteem issues or whatever, she might think she wasn't good enough and that he needed other girls. He couldn't lie, he had learned to really enjoy his time with Lola (who pounced him every other day at least), but he didn't need it, feel me?

"Yep," Gwen chirped. "You're not the only one who does it, after all."

True. Lana, they had both learned, was bi, and while she was teaching Gwen some of her moves, things had a way of...happening. Just the other day, he walked in on them - Gwen was stretched out on Lana's bed with her skirt pushed up around her hips and Lana's fingers knuckles deep in her crotch. He got to join in, though: Lana jacked him off...using Gwen's juices as lube. It was hot.

Presently, Gwen hugged him and stared up into his eyes. "They can have your body all they want, Freak, just as long as I have your heart."

"You do," he said earnestly and kissed her forehead, "I love you...and only you."

"I love you too," she said and hugged him tight. "Now come on. I wanna eat something before we go."

Downstairs, Lemy found most of his sisters clustered at the dining room table slurping cereal and making fun of each other. "Liby's mouth looks like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," Leia said, "only more unhygenic."

Lyra leaned over the table and squinted at Liby. "I see pubes in her braces." She looked over her shoulder. "Did it hurt when she ripped them out, Lace?"

Lacy called out from the kitchen, her words a food-filled garble.

Liby ignored them and ate her cereal with the serenity of a woman who's had worse hurled at her than juvenile insults. Lemy's eyes went to the thick bandage on her elbow, white and held in place by medical tape. She and Lacy fought some drug dealer or something and she got pegged. Dad was pissed. You let yourself get shot? Really, Lib? Rookie mistake! Liby just hung her head. I know. She was in the process of liquidating Mystery Girl, LTD and disentangling herself from her contacts...whatever that meant. I'm done with the game, she said.

In the kitchen, Lacy leaned against the counter eating a sports bar. When Gwen and Lemy entered, she looked up and nodded. Lemy nodded back. "I don't think we have time," Gwen said, her eyes going to the microwave clock. "I'm hungry too."

"You can have one of these," Lacy said, spraying bits of granola, "they're power packed with nutrients."

Gwen hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay. Thanks." She went over to the pantry, opened the door, and picked up a box while Lemy got a Sam's Cola from the fridge. He hated these goddamn things, but they were better than that nasty ass Food-Lion brand. What was it, Chunky Cola? Fatass Fizz? Something like that. He popped the tab and took a drink, then handed it off to Gwen in exchange for half of the sports bar.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Gwen said and took a sip.

Lacy pushed away from the counter, grabbed her Nike bag, and started to leave, but stopped and backed up. "Me and Lib are going to the movies tonight, you guys wanna come? We can make it a double date."

Lemy's mouth was full, so he shrugged and looked at Gwen. "Sure," she said, "that sounds fun."

"Cool," Lacy said, "we're leaving at seven." She threw her bag over her shoulder and went into the dining room just as the table erupted in laughter. A wordless growl told him Leia was the butt of the joke this time.

Gwen finished her half of the soda and handed it back; Lemy washed down his share of the sports bar and tossed the can into the trash. Such a simple thing, sharing breakfast with the girl you love, but such a fucking satisfying thing, you know? Just like falling asleep with her in your arms, and then waking up with her butt against your wood and your nose buried in her hair. She'd only lived with him for two weeks, but already he couldn't imagine not having her around.

He took her in his arms now and kissed the top of her head. She hugged him back and nestled her face into his chest. "You ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said and stepped back. He held out his hand, she took it, and together they went into the living room, where everyone was putting on their coats and book bags. Dad stood by the door with a cup of coffee in his hand, dressed in a green robe over plaid lounge pants: He looked like the bassist for a seventies glam band with a homosexual flair. Lori stood next to him in a blue robe, she, too, held a cup of coffee; her blonde hair stuck out at weird angles and dark bags hung under her eyes, giving her the appearance of a perpetually tired pigeon. A line formed and Dad kissed each successive kid on the forehead, When it came Lemy's turn, Dad laid his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Have a good day," he said.

"You too," Lemy replied.

Gwen was last. Dad simply nodded to her. "Have a good day."

"You too."

Outside, a cold gust of wind swept the day. Gwen shivered, and Lemy put his arm around her, drawing her close. "You warm enough?" he worried. "You want my jacket?"

She hummed. "No, I'm fine."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

They went down the stairs, followed the walkway to the curb , and crossed the street.

Back in the house, Lincoln watched them through the front window with a slight frown. Lori threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed the side of his neck. "You still stressing?" she asked.

Lincoln sighed and turned away. "Yeah," he said, "a little."

"Don't," Lori said.

Well, that's easier said than done, he didn't say. He'd been trying not to stress, really, but it was hard. In the two weeks that Gwen had been here, her mother hadn't so much as sent her a single text message, and he was beginning to think that Lemy was right - the woman really didn't want her. That made him sick, literally sick; the poor girl...she didn't seem upset, but she had to be. Her mother, the woman who birthed her, who had been there her entire life, was completely and totally rejecting her. Alcoholic or not, emotionally cruel or not, that couldn't be easy for her, and there were times when he just wanted to hug her and give her fatherly words of encouragement like no one ever had. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, though, and he didn't want Lemy to think he was trying to move in on his girl. (He would never do that, by the way - he fucked his daughters, but he wasn't an animal.)

Still, when he kissed his kids goodbye and could only awkwardly nod at Gwen, it made him feel bad; if he could, he'd give her the same kiss he did his own. Just to let her know someone cares about you.

He figured he'd have to leave that to Lemy, though, and Lemy was doing a damn good job of it; every time he saw them, he was touching Gwen, hugging her, cuddling her, planting soft, affectionate kisses on her cheek and forehead. You could see the love in his eyes, and you could see it in hers too.

"You're literally doing everything you can," Lori said and hugged him.

Lincoln pursed his lips and glanced down into his coffee; his rippling reflection stared back at him like a phantom from the sea. "I just feel awful for her," he said, and looked up and Lori. "I keep imagining...what if that was me? What if Mom and Dad treated me that way?"

One of Lincoln's flaws, he had been told, was his ability to empathize with people, to put himself firmly in their shoes. Several times over the past two weeks, he allowed himself dwell on Gwen's situation, to feel her pain so keenly that he lost sleep. He realized there was little he could do, but he decided days and days ago to do that little a lot. If her mother never asked Gwen to come home, she could stay here forever; she was a good kid, and there was no way in hell he could live with himself if he turned her away.

She needed more than a place to live, though, she needed love. He just hoped Lemy's feelings for her were enough to heal her wounded spirit.

Sighing, Lincoln took a sip of his coffee. "I gotta get ready," he said.

"Me too," Lori said and rubbed his shoulders. ""Wanna have sex first?"

Lincoln thought for a moment. "Sure. Can you be quick?"

Lori hummed. "Yes I can."

* * *

Liby didn't like carrying her gun at school, but she had been ever since returning from Costa Rica. Montoya was dead and from what she heard, his empire was in shambles and various factions were fighting for control - as she anticipated; whenever a strongman dies, a dozen different underlings jostle to fill the vacuum. She assumed that she and Liby were the last of anyone's worries right now, but you can never be too careful.

Presently, she sat across a table from Lacy; it was lunch time and the cafeteria was filled with the chattering din of a hundred kids talking and laughing. Lacy ate slowly, without her usual gusto; she tried not to let on, but she was having a hard time coping with what happened. She had nightmares a lot and woke up crying a few times, and loud, sudden noises made her jump.

She was coming to terms, though - she hadn't had a nightmare in three days and didn't look over her shoulder quite as much. Seeing her so jumpy and unlike her normal self killed Liby inside, and she regretted bringing her along every single day. She was right to do it, though, because she probably wouldn't have made it through on her own.

At least that's what she had been telling herself.

Picking up her roll, she absently turned it over in her hand.

"I asked Lemy and Gwen to come to the movies with us," Lacy said. "I figured it'd be a good chance to get to know her, you know?"

Liby nodded. "Yeah." When she and Lacy returned, they found Lemy's girlfriend, whom they barely knew, suddenly living in their house. Both were suspicious, Liby more so than Lacy. She seemed to like Lemy, but you can never be sure about people and their motives, especially in a case like Gwen's, where she had something going on at home. Was she using Lemy to get away from whatever her parents were doing? She brought this up to Dad and he was adamant that it's not like that. Maybe it wasn't...then again, maybe it was. She just wanted to make sure Gwen was earnest in her feelings for Lemy and not some sneaky, conniving bitch. Liby might not be in love with him anymore, but she still loved him dearly...and she kind of wanted to have sex with him. She wasn't gay, after all, just bi, and she still thought he was hot. She'd have to talk to Lacy about it, though, to see how she felt.

In fact, she'd do that right now.

Setting her roll down, she leaned over the table. "I have something to ask you," she said. Lacy looked up from her tray mid-chew, her cheeks bulging and putting Liby in mind of a cute cartoon squirrel. Lacy lifted her brows in silent question.

"I was wondering," Liby said, "if you would be okay with me...having sex with Lemy." She was a brave, bold girl, but she still spat the last four words in an anxious rush.

Lacy's jaw froze, then she swallowed.

"If you're not, it's okay," Liby hastened to add, "I just kind of want to, you know?"

For a moment Liby thought Lacy would protest; instead, she shrugged. "Sure. As long as you're okay with me doing him too." One corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked grin, and Liby's heart swelled. Her sister was so hot.

"Of course," she said, then flashed her own grin, "we can tag team him."

Lacy nodded. "Yeah. Or we can bring Gwen in and make it a foursome. You said you want to get to know her better, and that's kinda the best way."

Liby considered. "Yeah. It is. Wanna do it tonight?"

"Sure," Lacy said and smiled broadly, "you should do that thing with your tongue. You'll drive her up the wall."

Liby blushed. She took great pride in her oral skills, and having them complimented always made her head swell up a little. "Maybe, then again, I might reserve it for you and you alone." She winked and her sister laughed.

Across the building, Lemy sat in science class with his head bowed over a piece of paper. The lights were out and the only illumination came from the cart mounted TV at the head of the room; when you walk in and see that thing, you always breathe a sigh of relief, amirite? Lemy sure as fuck did. He liked science, feel me, but he had a poem weighing down his head space like a fat dump weighs down your gut. In the time he and Gwen had been together, he'd gotten pretty good at writing poetry, but today he was struggling. It wasn't the words, it was his emotions; he'd been sitting there for a good half hour trying to identify just what it was he felt and couldn't. Love, yeah, that went without saying, but..it was something else too. He kept thinking of that morning, how he and she did normal, mundane stuff, you know, sharing a soda and a sports bar... and how fucking satisfying it was. He figured it was kind of a domestic thing, but that was, like, new ground for him, and he just...he couldn't really explain it. It was like trying to read a sign in Greek or something.

He closed his eyes and called up a vision of Gwen's face; her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, the golden glow of the morning sun touching her face, making it glow and shimmering in her hair like fire. His heartbeat quickened and a smile crept across his face. He loved waking up to that; if Gwen let him, he'd do it for the rest of his life.

Shimmering hair afire

Sunlit vestment attire

Lemy frowned. No, that sounded clunky. And clumsy.

Shimmering hair afire

Dress'd in sunlight

Golden warm attire.

Huh. Golden warm sounded dumb. What could he replace it with? He flipped through his mental Rolodex but, bomb ass poet or not, his vocabulary was kinda limited. He'd stick with it for now and see where it took him; if he got a good poem overall, there could be a weak spot or two and it wouldn't be a big deal.

Okay.

Next stanza.

Aaaaaaand he had nothing.

Goddamn it.

He slapped the pencil onto the desk and leaned back. This girl means the world to you and you can't even write her a fucking poem? You're a piece of shit, dog. You don't deserve her. You deserve Mama Juicy. Naked, fat rolls hanging out, hairy chest, pussy like an Arby's beef 'n' cheddar melt. Hey, fuck face, where's your bike?

Sigh.

At home. Let me go get it.

When the bell rang ten minutes later, he gathered his shit, went to his locker, and put away what he didn't need. Minutes later, he was in history class and trying to focus on Manifest Destiny but thinking of his poem instead. He was still drawing a blank.

He'd just have to put it aside.

Some poet, huh?

At the end of the day, he threw all his crap into his locker, pulled on his jacket and cap, and walked through the late afternoon sunlight to the end of the street, where Gwen and Leia were already waiting for him. He smiled when he saw her, and she smiled back. "Hey," she said as he kissed her cheek.

"Hey," he replied and slipped his arm around her shoulder. "How was your day?"

"Alright," she said, and they began to walk, "I passed my math test."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yep."

Math was not Gwen's best subject. She wasn't terrible, but she wasn't great, either. Luckily, Lemy was good at the stuff, so he'd been helping her out. If I have two nuts and you take one away, how many do I have left? Nah, her stuff was a little more complicated than that, but...yeah.

He squeezed her and kissed her forehead. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," she said, "I'm pretty - "

Leia cleared her throat, and Lemy glanced at her. "Aren't you going to ask how my day was?"

For a moment Lemy simply stared at her. "How was your day, Leia?"

She smiled prettily. "Good, Gwen and I had a special class."

Gwen laughed and nodded as if just remembering. "We did."

Lemy looked from his sister to his girlfriend and back again. "What was it?"

A devious smile carved across Leia's face. "Sex ed."

Oh. Heh. Giving Leia a sex ed course was like teaching Stephen King how to spell. Pointless. Because...ya know. Gwen too, come to think of it. She wasn't as widely experienced as Leia (Leia had been with two men, Gwen with one), but he'd been teaching her a lot over the past couple weeks. Mainly how to fake it.

J/K…

...I hope.

"Did you learn a lot?" Lemy asked, playing along.

Leia shrugged one shoulder. "Not really." She batted her eyes and favored him with a suggestive sidelong glance. "We do have homework, though."

Lemy looked at Gwen, and she nodded. "Yes we do," she said.

Well...I didn't think sex ed was a class that typically assigned homework, but what do I know? I'm a creep in a headband who listens to dad rock. "What kind of homework?"

Leia hummed. "Nothing much. Just an...oral examine."

The Shockmaster turned in his sleep like Cthulhu, his open eye opening and seeing that it was good.

Leia slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. "We need a boy to eat us out and I was wondering if maaaaaybe you'd help us."

Some guys might turn down the chance to eat their girlfriend and their eleven-year-old sister out, but not Lemy "Bandana Head" Loud; he was dtd, son - down to dine. "Sure," he said, and slipped his arm around Leia - now he had a girl under either wing. "I can help you out."

"Good," Leia said.

"We're probably going to have to wait, though," Gwen said.

"Uh, why?" Leia asked.

"Because your aunt Lynn wants him first."

Leia blew a raspberry. "She can wait."

Maybe she could...but she didn't: As soon as they walked through the door, she was there, like a dog who'd been waiting all day for the return of its master. Her hands were on her hips and she was in the same clothes she was wearing that morning; Lemy's eyes went to her camel toe and the dark stain of his seed. A lotta dudes act like camel toes are gross, but Lemy thought they were fucking hot.

"Good, you're here," she said and snatched his hand, "c'mon."

"Uh, excuse me," Leia said, "he's helping me and Gwen with our homework."

Lynn's eyes narrowed. "He can do that later. Right now we're gonna spar." She started to pull him toward the stairs, but Leia caught hold of his free hand and yanked him back with surprising strength. Ow. Felt like his goddamn shoulder popped out its socket.

"Let him go," Leia demanded.

Is this really happening? He looked at Gwen and her eyes were wide.

"Leia, run along and play with your dolls or whatever," Lynn said.

"Go play with yourself," Leia shot back.

Lynn pulled him left, and Leia pulled him right. Ow. Ouch. "Alright! Goddamn!"

Both girls stopped at looked at him. He pulled away from them and shot them both a dirty look. "You gotta learn to share."

"I already do share with her," Leia said and crossed her arms. "I'm sick of it."

"Pffft. Please. You can barely take your father. He told me all about how he only puts the head in."

Leia's jaw dropped and her face turned bright red. "T-That's not true!"

Lynn screwed her face up in a mocking expression of pain. "'Ow, Daddy, it hurts, pwease stop.'"

Leia balled her fists and stomped the floor with one foot, her body leaning forward. "I don't sound like that!"

Standing in the middle of two arguing girls - arguing over him - Lemy had a revelation: They did the same shit with Dad, but somehow how he managed to keep the peace. Now he had to keep the peace because if he just stood here with his thumb up his ass, Lynn and Leia were going to rip each other apart.

"Alright!" he said and held up one hand; they both fell silent. "Leia...Lynn did ask first."

Leia's face fell into a disappointed pout. He put his hand on her shoulder and pressed his lips to her ear. "I'll make it up to you," he whispered, and licked her earlobe. A shiver went through her, and when he pulled back, she was smirking.

"You better," she said.

"I will." He looked at Gwen. "You coming?"

"No, I wanna get a snack. Have fun, though." She winked.

He winked back.

"C'mon, Lem," Lynn said and dragged him up the stairs, "I got a game you're gonna love. I play it with your dad all the time." In the upstairs hall, Lacy came out of her room, saw them, and slumped her shoulders.

"Don't break him, Mom; me and Liby wanna do him later.'"

Lemy's eyes widened. Holy shit. When it rains it fucking pours. I know this is gonna sound bad because I spent so long pissing and moaning about not getting any, but oh my God, I dunno if I can take it; these girls are gonna suck me dry and I'm gonna look like the dude from The Mummy with Brendan Fraser (dope movie, btw).

Wait. BREAK ME? Oh, hell no. Maybe some guys like getting their ass kicked in the bedroom, but not me.

Lynn rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna break him, jeez."

In the third floor hall, Lynn pushed her door open and, in one fluid motion, stepped aside and flung him onto the bed. Ahhh! He landed on his back and before he could recover, she jumped on him, her knees caging his legs and her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes flashed with lust and her lips peeled back from her teeth in a dangerous smile. His heart started to race and he swallowed around a lump in his throat. Uh-oh, I'm gonna die, aren't I?

She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him roughly to her, their noses brushing and her lips welding to his; her tongue shot into his mouth and her ragged breath filled his lungs. For a moment he was frozen as she licked and prodded every nook and cranny, tasting, exploring, and breathing faster as her arousal alive, Lemy kissed her back, their tongues grappling for dominance and Lynn's winning: She was strong, bro.

By the time she broke the kiss, The Shockmaster was standing tall and pushing against her crotch. Both were panting and red faced, strands of drool connecting their lips. She shoved him roughly back, rose up, and pulled her shirt over her head; she tossed it aside as Lemy drank in her chest: Small but perky breasts, hard brown nipples, a smattering of freckles, taut, powerful stomach muscles. He gawked for a moment, then ran his hands up her sleek sides as she lifted and pulled her shorts down her toned legs, then whipped them off and threw them aside.

Entirely naked now, she yanked his pants down and grinned when Shocky made his entrance. "That's what I'm talkin' about," she said. She splayed her hands on his shoulders and mounted him, her lips slipping over the head of his dick and drawing him to her slick opening. Her heat was incredible...stronger than any he'd ever felt before. Either she was super turned on, or she was naturally an oven - he suspected a little of both. She jerked down, and he slid unceremoniously in, her walls pressing needily against him like wet satin fresh from the dryer. (That's a weird analogy, I know, but that's what came to his mind. Sue him). His nails dug into her hips and she settled, taking him to her limit and hovering her face inches above his. "You ready to play?" she asked.

Lemy swallowed and nodded. Maybe it was all the exercising and shit she did, but she was tight. Not as tight as Gwen or Leia, but a solid third place. Hell, a 2.5.

"Alright," she said, flattened her body against his, and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. "I call it Rodeo. You gotta buck me off."

Lemy's brow furrowed. "L-Like I'm a bull?"

"Yeah," she said, "like you're a bull."

You know...that she wanted to do something like that was really unsurprising. "Alright," he said, "I'll try."

"Great."

She slipped her arms between his back and the bed and held on. She was strong, brah, so he wasn't sure he could knock her off, but he'd try. Grabbing the sheet in both hands, he drew his hips back as far as he could, his tip raking against her walls, and slammed forward with all his might: His head pounded against her cervix like a clapper against a bell and she jumped with a nahhhh! She held on tighter as he did it again, his dick shooting so deep it hurt.

"Gotta do better than that," she teased.

He gritted his teeth and threw his hips forward again. Again, she jumped and moaned as his tip met the opening to her womb. "You're even worse at this than your father," she said, a playfully mocking edge in her voice.

Oh, hell no. One thing you do not do is compare me unfavorably to Dad. I'm cool with him - especially since he's been such a bro about letting Gwen stay - but uh-uh. Shifting his hips and working up as much leverage as he could, he slapped his hands onto the mattress and threw himself forward; her body jerked upwards. He established a frenetic pace - imagine Woody Woodpecker going down on a hunk of wood and you'll get the picture. Lynn held fast and puffed hot exhalations against his neck. The friction was becoming too much and he could feel his end approaching.

Suddenly, she jumped off. Her face was beet red and her eyes were slurry with lust. "Alright, your turn."

Lemy blinked. "My turn?"

She stretched out next to him, her breasts flattening against her chest. "Yes, your turn."

A-Alright. He shifted onto her and thrusted in. Before he could get a grip, she started to buck wildly, tossing him nearly off. "Oh, shit," he gasped and grabbed the sheet in both hands. If he went Woody Woodpecker fast, she went faster than fucking light, every forward motion knocking his dick almost out; in fact, at one point it did come all the way out, then surged back in, making both of them gasp.

"Holy fuuuuuuuck," she moaned and went even faster. Lemy bowed his head and held on for dear life, crying out in surprise when she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled. Now she was on top and he was on the bottom. "Not bad," she panted, "let's play a new game." She leaned in and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. "First one to cum loses." She rocked her hips back slowly, then forward even slower. He could feel every curve of her body shaping and slipping around his own.

A competitive smile touched her lips, and, ya know...he kinda wanted to wipe it off. "Alright," he said, "you're on."

She laid her palms on his chest and fell into a slow but steady pace. "I hear you like it this way," she said, "slow and gentle...like a bitch."

He cupped her breasts in his hands...then tweaked the fuck out of her nipples. She yelped and her walls clamped around him. "Yeah," he said, "I do."

She tossed her hair and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You want me to be girly and shit, huh? Because you can't handle a real woman."

Keep talking that shit, Lynn.

"You're a little boy...you can't handle -" her words cut off in a cry when he wrapped his legs around her waist and rolled her onto her back. Her eyes were wide with shock...then crossed when he thrusted hard.

"You can't handle this," he said and thrusted again. She gasped and shook. "You're used to a middle aged man in a sweater vest." He thrusted again and her back arched. "He's Pat Boone, bitch; I'm Bon Scott." He pulled back until just the head remained, then surged forward.

Lynn moaned. "Y-You're a f-fucking pussy."

"Am I?

He threaded his fingers into her hand and pulled hard as he set a crazy tempo. She squeezed her eyes closed and bared her teeth like an animal. Her face was the color of blood and her breathing came in short, hitching gasps. "You're gonna cum, aren't you?"

She whipped her head from side to side.

"Yes you are," he said.

Thrust.

Thrust.

"You're gonna lose to a little boy who likes gentle bitch sex."

"F-F-Fuck you."

Thrustthrustthrustthrustthrust.

She was shaking now. Good. He couldn't last much longer. He bowed his head and went faster. He was sweaty and trembly and getting close to the edge. He couldn't cum, though; he had to take this bitch down a few pegs.

"C-Cum, a-admit defeat."

"N-Never."

His orgasm was starting to rush from his depths. He bore down on his teeth and thought of his grandmother (a technique he used sometimes - it always worked) but it was too late: His load was like a bullet in the chamber and Lynn's body was squeezing the trigger. He gave one final thrust and released, his cum blasting from his tip and filling Lynn's stomach. Her walls closed around him and she threw her hips flush against his with a loud cry. Lemy held onto the sheets and pumped his seed into her; she dug her heels into his butt and drew him closer, greedily sucking every drop from his rapidly draining ball sack.

For a long time afterwards, Lemy remained straddling her, his head bowed in shame. I came first, broseph, I lost. When he looked up at Lynn, she smirked. "Heh," she said, "I win."

Lemy sighed. "Yeah, you won."

"You went down, little boy. Who's the best? I'm the best."

Lemy pulled out in a rush of their mingled passion and sat on the edge of the bed. Great. Now I'm gonna have to listen to this.

Swinging her legs, she sat next to him and poked the side of his head. "How's the loser's circle feel?"

"Feels like I almost made you cum first"

She snickered. "That only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, buddy." She threw her arm around his neck, dragged him to her breast, and gave him a noogie.

"Ow!"

"Ya did good, though. I'm proud of you."

He pulled away. "Thanks."

She punched his arm. "If you wanna train, come see me. I'll have you throwing me off in no time. Little boy."

Lemy cocked a sidelong glance at her; she was grinning all over herself like the sorest winner to ever live. He wasn't usually competitive, but he found himself really wanting to beat her at her own game. "Okay," he said, "I'll be back."

"Good," she said, and punched his arm again, "and next time bring your A game."

"I'll do that," he said and got up. He turned to grab his pants from the bed, and Lynn's eyes flicked to his dick, her teeth brushing across her lower lip. He started to say something smart alecky, but came up empty handed.

Bring your A game, he thought with a snort as he went downstairs. She liked it. And he did too. The way she socked his arm and poked his head. It was like...he'd only ever seen her do that with Dad. More of the time she was deadly serious, you know? But with Dad she was loose and playful, and for some reason having her like that with him, like they were best buds, was really fucking cool.

I mean...hey, we just bonded, right? That's how it goes in this family. Other families play board games together, mine sleeps together. I never really understood that, you know? I saw it as just sex, but I sensed it, and not having sex, not bonding the way everyone else did...that's why I felt so isolated, I think.

And when I turned Lola down that first time, I thought that if I had sex with her, it would be like cheating on Gwen, but it's not. It's different. You can hang with your girl and your family, right? That's kinda how sex works here. I love Gwen - deeply, passionately, and burningly - and doing my sisters and aunts is different because...man, I dunno. I just know that I enjoyed the fuck out of bonding with Lola and Lynn. We're much closer now. At least me and Lola, Lynn remains to be seen. The other day Lola even brought me and Gwen to the mall with her and and Leia, and we talked a lot, you know? Just general stuff. I always got the feeling she was haughty and aloof, but she's actually really cool with a sweet streak a mile wide.

He was in the dining room now. Gwen, arms crossed, stood next to Leia, who sat at the table doing her homework. When Lemy saw her, the strangest emotion came over him. It was like love and fondness and nostalgia all rolled into one. He smiled, slipped his arms around her from behind, and kissed her neck. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said and leaned into him.

Having her in his arms, being with her…

"I love you," he said and held her tight.

As much as he liked doing Lynn and Lola…

"Hm...I love you, too, Freak."

Gwen…

...Gwen was like coming home.


End file.
